


Newspaper Clippings

by MiniDemons



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassins, Death, Eventually will include art of scenes, Fantasy, Magic, Other, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniDemons/pseuds/MiniDemons
Summary: Mihr had one mission, one partner. No time limit but really, this was Mihr- this was Death, the lead assassin of the Association. It should be finished within a week at most even if the target was a shape shifter. A month later and he and his partner are still tracking the elusive killer. Things fall apart from there with blood bonds and way ward magic and then a little demonic child thinking that being an assassin would just be so much fun and the Association telling him to train the pesky little thing. He could handle that, he could.- and then the war started and all he wanted to do was crawl into some hole in the wall and just close his eyes and sleep for a century because was that really too much to ask for? This wasn't even his job, he just had one job and it wasn't to fight in a bloody war.





	1. An After Thought

**Author's Note:**

> WIP story, will have slow updates but I have a good portion of this plotted out. A story I've been working on for five or so years (given, this is from a side characters perspective)  
> This story won't exactly be proof read/edited until after the entire thing is finished which may take who knows how long. The stories pace will pick up around the third or fourth chapter if things go as planned
> 
> There will be art added to this, maybe even a few comics (because I'm working on a 3 panel comic for a later scene in the story)
> 
> Some pictures of the main character are:  
> http://file.toyhou.se/images/2128732_VjOx96eleDs72vI.png  
> http://file.toyhou.se/images/1839933_1AL04TkwuFHQFzX.png  
> http://file.toyhou.se/images/2115310_oIXjqKhUUU1CyKn.png  
> http://file.toyhou.se/images/1952025_HqF9eDEe3bwk3Vl.png
> 
> (Dunno how to do the link thing here yet so...)

     He’d gasp, yell, scream and cry but his voice was blocked, unable to escape. Captured and caged and strangling him as he chocked and coughed. Begging is what he’d call it, begging and pleading- trying to get freedom from the pain wracking his body.

 

     An after thought- he was truly pathetic. Pathetic and weak and so, so stupid. 

 

     An after thought- he could never believe that this had happened. That he was idiotic enough to let it happen, that he couldn’t even save himself.

 

     An after thought- he was probably better off with it happening though. No matter how painful it was and still is. Now he was practically immortal.

 

     He remembered looking up, as up as he could face down on the floor and his body spasming and curling in on itself. He remembered boots, a soft kick, a laugh that haunted his dreams. He remembered- “I can’t believe you’re still alive. Your that genius kid aren’t you? Bet you wish you were dead.” And he did- he remembered so much wishing that he was dead and that everything was done and that he didn’t hurt anymore.

 

     He wished the man dead even more, this sour feeling eating away at his insides.

 

     An after thought- that was probably the poison instead of hatred.

 

     An after thought- even then he never really wished for death. He remembered fearing the darkness, but he wanted the pain to end more than he feared the looming shadow of death.

 

     An after thought- this was probably where everything started going down hill if he really thinks about it.

 

     The world went dark just as the words “Ones alive!” were shouted. 

 

     Next time he woke up everything hurt but at the same time didn’t. Next time he woke up he couldn’t move a muscle with tubes digging into him everywhere. He recognized himself as more machine than human.

 

     An after thought- even now he’s more machine than human. More like a magic fueled machine incased with soft human flesh.

 

     An after thought- maybe he was never considered human in the first place. After all, what do you call a genius seven year old who can save themselves from being eaten away from the inside out?

 

     An after thought- majority would agree that he was just a machine his entire life. Unfeeling and uncaring. His body is just another way to confirm the theory.

 

     Life changed after that. He never begged or plead again, never had to after that. Never wanted to and probably would refuse to even if it could save his life. They said he’d never walk or move again. He’d live his entire life strapped to that bed.

 

     He remembered over hearing the whispers of the others. Remembered their disgusted faces when they peeked into his room.

 

     “How is he still alive?”

     “The child’s a monster I tell you.”

     “Shouldn’t we just kill him?”

     “Is letting him live even humane?”

     “If that were me-

                              I’d rather die.”

 

     An after thought- people are weak in total, he wasn’t the only weak and pathetic one. At least he out grew that depressing weakness. He came out better because of this.

 

     An after thought- how someone could say that, could attempt to sympathize with him was astounding because they were so wrong.

 

     An after thought- they were terribly wrong, terribly stupid and wrong and how _dare they_ even.

 

     The first time he disobeyed a law ended in the man curled up in a ball begging and pleading him. Face down, body convulsing and trying to look up. A light kick and then laughter followed by, “I can’t believe you’re still alive. Bet you wish you were dead right now, don’t you?” He dropped down to a crouch, smile bright and dazzling.

 

     “Don’t worry. I altered your poison some. It’s gonna be a while before you actually kick the bucket. Even if they come here, you won’t be saved.” He reached over, patting the man’s head before, “I made sure it was impossible to cure or fix.”

 

     An after thought- he should probably use that poison again sometime. He’s neglected it after that one time. Never thought to use it again. Who knows why.

 

     An after thought- he wished he had more than a newspaper article for that moment. It deserves a video, he’d have preferred if he could watch it instead of reading about the after math.

 

     An after thought- that was the first time he honestly loved the idea of someone dying in pain.

 

     An after thought- that was probably the moment he became infatuated with death, watching wide eyes scared and fearful, denial thick and suffocating.

 

     Fingers brush against newspaper articles, delicately sliding down, down, down into different stories, different events. Sometimes he’d stop, maybe rest his whole hand on an article or maybe on a picture. Sometimes he’d find a black marker to scratch out names or dates or titles. Sometimes he’d take his finger off the pieces of paper strewn out in front of him and bring it back down elsewhere.

 

     An after thought- no matter what, he’d never regret what has happened in his life.

 

     An after thought- no matter what, he came out stronger and smarter and all around _better_ because of it.

 

     An after thought- no matter what.


	2. Sleep

     Sleep, sleep was a foreign concept to Mihr. The man understood how it worked but did he experience it? No, not in any amount of time that he can correctly remember anyways. He knew what dreams were, what nightmares were. Knew why the brain had to shut down every night, why people went insane without it. He knew that after so long without it people would have little black outs, little naps through out the day in an attempt to make up for the lack of sleep. But when the time came, when everyone else would crawl into bed and fall into slumber he-

 

     He’d just lay there. Staring up at some ceiling or the sky and unable to sleep. After a while he’d stop trying, he’d get up, move around, polish daggers or make the necessary changes to whatever poison or potion or antidote he was working on earlier in the day. When the sun would rise up into the sky he’d be found crouched over his desk doing whatever needed to be done.

 

     Part of the reason he loved his job was the fact that sleep, sleep got _in the way_ of his job. It delayed it. Made the job harder to finish, made the job take longer. So the fact that he could never sleep? He was _worshipped_. Honored. A god, because whats better than someone who never slept and still held their sanity together. What's better than someone who could strike out at any time of the day. The most feared, the Death that lurks and hits when least expected.

 

     “Death, are you ready?” Mihr snapped out of his thoughts, eyes sliding to the other occupant of the room. Midnight, that’s what he was called anyways. Black hair, dark eyes, dark skin. It was a fitting name to be honest, someone who could easily hide in the shadows. Someone who could easily blend into the night, who could vanish as if they were never there in the first place.

 

     “When haven’t I been ready?” The words are lazy, spilled out into the room as Mihr watched the other occupant sitting on one of the beds. It was an honest question to be truthful, he was _always_ ready. No matter the hour, the work, no matter. He could abandon everything on a moments notice for some job. The other man shrugged, dark gaze moving to stare at the wall next to Mihr. 

 

     “You aren’t human.” Those words are gruff, more annoyed than anything. A hint of fear could probably be detected in them because what was said could be considered true. Nobody could be sure that Mihr was indeed human. He simply gave a smile in response, voice singing a response of- “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you~”

 

     Midnight simply scowled, not to say he wasn’t scowling before but his lips turned even further down. Eyebrows squishing into one another and eye barely open before he turned his head with a huff. Afterwards was more of an awkward silence, awkward for the two haven’t worked together for longer than a month and Midnight still walked around Mihr as if he was some wild animal about to go mad. Awkward because if he was honest, Mihr enjoyed the timidness of the other man, unable to help himself when it came to making himself seem more dangerous, more inhuman than he really was.

 

     Awkward because they’ve been together for a month and the mission should have finished already because none of Mihr’s missions _took this long_. Awkward because this was one mission where Mihr actually _needed_ a partner. Mihr never learned how to play well with others, never had to because even if another was forced upon him the missions lasted maybe a week. Maybe. His longest mission, other than the one he was currently on took a grand total of eight days. He didn’t know about Midnight’s records, Midnight wasn’t all that important to be honest. The man was only there for one thing and one thing only- to track. Mihr was the killer in this partnership.

 

     But it was taking an unnaturally long time that made both of them easier to agitate, made Midnight more silent and tense and Mihr easier to snap out. Made Mihr fall into the temptation of teasing the other more often than not. Though, to be honest there was no easy solution for the situation. No easy solution to finish the mission either-

Because how does one track a shapeshifter?

 

     They left the inn in silence, Midnight staying a good three feet behind Mihr and carrying most of their belongings on his back. His hands were shoved in coat pockets, head burrowed down as far as possible in the coat he wore. In Mihr’s opinion he looked like one of those timid children, shy and scared- ready to bolt at the slightest movements despite his height. Mihr on the other hand walked like he owned the place, small in stature but large in spirit with a large smile and a bouncing step. A child leading the gloomy giant to outsiders.

 

     Really it should have been the other way around, Mihr wasn’t the tracker. To be honest, Mihr was never skilled in tracking- the most he was able to do was sense magic but anything other than that was beyond him. Usually he had enough of everything else to deal with it, a face, a name. Something that sticks out and makes the target easy to find. This target though, ‘Ghost’ as it was dubbed, was far from usual. Even Midnight was more lost than anything when it came to finding the elusive target, but he had enough of a solid guess that the two could keep going in the right direction.

 

     Ghost was a strange one, a shape shifter that moved frequently and without pattern. Sometimes he’d go west sometimes south, sometimes northeast. Sometimes he’d leave in the middle of a blizzard, other times he’d leave during daylight. He always left enough of himself for them to track. Well, enough of himself as well as a body trail. Not once has the elusive man (or woman, because if Mihr was honest he didn’t exactly know the gender of the one they hunted. Not like it mattered since the target always wore the face of one of the deceased.) visited a town and not left a body. It was something both Mihr and Midnight were thankful for, even if Midnight would cringe whenever they heard of one of the recent Ghost victims being brought up. Without the body trail, who knows where they’d be at by now when it comes to tracking.

 

     The added bonus to the bodies was the magic trail that was always left behind. Something even Mihr could sense and differentiate despite his lack of tracking ability. Which was actually why he was the one leading this time around, because unlike how it is most of the time- this time he knew exactly where to head. Another body to add to the body county and another trail for them to follow. One that, if they have any luck, won’t end at a dead end or vanish into the abyss later on in the day. 

 

     Ghost’s magic had a special kind of feel to it, most of it being a suffocating white magic with a hint of black dancing on the sidelines. Whenever Mihr asked Midnight the tracker would say it tasted something like mint. An overpowering, sour tasting mint flavor when asked for specifics. Mihr could never exactly picture how magic could taste like anything but he took the trackers word. No matter how it tasted, it had a feel to it. Something more unique than anything else Mihr had felt (even different from the two hybrids he had met and dispatched of earlier on in his career). It was like a bright neon line showing exactly where Ghost was, or at least- where his newest victim was.

 

     This time it was in an alleyway between a breakfast bar and an office. Something dark and secluded and the kill was definitely fresh with steam rising from the beheaded corpse. Something about the winter cold and recent snow made the scene more interesting than it would have been in the dead of summer. Or at least, if there were no snow to be bathed in red. If there was anything Mihr could say about the kills was that Ghost always dealt with them quickly. Painlessly. Something he could respect the killer for, fast deaths weren’t exactly the easiest to make even if the victim was unsuspecting. People struggled and that always made things difficult. 

 

     Midnight acted as usual, fingers dancing in the air and eyes closed. Sensing, or as the tracker would word it ‘tasting’ the air- the _magic_ around him. It was something that Mihr was slowly getting used to seeing, the first few times he saw the odd behavior it left Mihr puzzling over what the heck the tracker was doing. His magic didn’t work that way, no need for fancy movement or meditating or ‘tasting’. His was simple and straight forward, more complex spells needing words but past that it was simply brain power and will and imagery. 

 

     Midnight explained the whole thing as picking apart the area around, telling which trail is newer, which is older. Why the mass amount of magic was used- for consumption; consumption of what they didn’t exactly know- and if it was really recent (like this trail clearly was, at the latest an hour old) he could differentiate emotions. As long as the emotions are strong enough but Midnight said that Ghost was practically drowning in emotions all the time. 

 

     Another interesting thing about Ghost would be the way his trail always shifts. After a large expel it’ll vanish to mostly black magic (Midnight described it as particularly sour and dark), the white magic vanishing somewhere by the victim. Something that made the target stick out more than any other target- Mihr never heard of a hybrid being able to drop one side of their blood before.

 

     “We should have got here sooner.” The words are soft spoken, at odds with the voice saying them. Not completely at odds at the image Midnight was at the moment, his hands no longer dancing in the air, instead tucked deep into coat pockets and eyes squeezed shut. Soft and weak is how he’d word it, with the cringe on the tracker’s face and the fact that Midnight seemed to be trying to crawl into himself. To hide away. Mihr gave a shrug, not really caring because in all honesty-

 

     No matter how soon they came it wouldn’t have been soon enough. Ghost flees the scene within seconds donning the victims face. He could be anywhere- anywhere important to the victim of half way across the city already. They could have passed the target when they were heading towards the victim. It really didn’t matter in the end because it would have been impossible to come soon enough to actually catch Ghost in the act.

 

     “Wouldn’t have changed anything. Takes a while for the the magic essence or whatever to reach us anyways.” Mihr gave a nudge to the head of the victim, turning it over just enough that he could see the face. Nothing else mattered after all, but the face? The face was important. Probably what the target looked like this exact second. “You gonna get the police or shall I?” A tad off topic, but safe. And honestly, something that needed answered. With the police would come a name and a residence and anything else important to the victim. With that came a trail that Mihr could follow without needing the tracker. Something he was always grateful to have, he hated having to follow the other one around like some blind pup.

 

     “You can, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not waiting up for the police.” A questioning look was shot the tracker’s way, a frown replacing the smirk that was previously on Mihr’s face. He didn’t need to say anything though, after a moment of silence Midnight was quick to add, “He was panicking. He probably left as soon as he could. Probably heard we were here or something.”

 

     A laugh, cold and unnatural before Mihr spat out, “Of course.” With a harsh click of the tongue he reached for his phone, shaking his head as he jabbed out the number for the police. Not the first time Midnight has said that, probably wouldn’t be the last time either. He hated every time Midnight mentioned whatever panic the target was feeling. Whenever Midnight would hint that the trail lead outside to where he couldn’t even dream of finding the target without the other. This was why he had the tracker in the first place, because this was something Ghost was notorious for doing. Ditching whatever town or city he called home for however long on a moment’s notice without leaving a single hint out of a cooling trail that vanished a bit more with every minute that went by.

 

     Calling the police was always annoying, especially when they weren’t planning to stick around. If they weren’t staying to greet any officers they had to leave as little information as possible and erase any evidence of their existence else complaints would be filed toward the Magic Association and then _that_ would become a bigger issue. Because there were rules. Rules the two of them were notorious for not following half the time because Ghost was either near by or he was leaving or _something_. Mihr leaves an address, a time, saying there’s a decapitated person and keeping it as short as possible and as he snapped the phone shut he could hear the frantic voice on the other end going, “sir- what do you mean? Sir- hello? Are you still-” _Snap._

 

     “They’ll probably be here in a few minutes.” The words received a small nod, Midnight breathing in a little bit before he brought both his hands out of his hands and giving a single clap. Erasing the evidence, that was something Mihr couldn’t do either. It took a second before suddenly everything seemed to just vanish, the air seeming lighter- no longer suffocating or pressuring him. Not like Mihr had noticed in the first place, it was something that someone could quickly become accustomed to but as soon as Midnight erased the entire area he suddenly could tell what kind of effect Ghost’s magic had on him. It always surprised him every time it happened, and probably would continue to do so. He couldn’t see himself getting used to it anytime in his life.

 

      “He headed west, probably going towards the mountains.” Mihr gave a slight huff at hearing those words, there was no probably to it. Midnight has yet to be wrong on guessing Ghost’s destinations, maybe slow but wrong? Never. That was why he was there after all. _Such a good little tracker,_ the thought was sour in the man’s mind as he motioned Midnight ahead, “Lead the way, oh great one.” Midnight simply spared him a single glare in response before moving forward. 

 

     With leaving came the need to return to the hotel the two had abandoned earlier at the first burst of magic hanging around in the air. Returning to collect the horses, to collect the small bags of belongings like clothes or the rest of Mihr’s meagre herb supplies. The trek back was as silent as the trek to, but instead of Midnight looming behind Mihr got the joy of watching the giant lumber around in front of him- still several feet away though.

 

     Mihr once asked his companion about his tendency to stay several feet away and all he got in reply was a glare and then a muttered ‘you poison people.’ as if that was to answer everything. Which, he supposed counted as an answer but did the other man really feel that threatened by him? It wasn’t like Mihr killed his partners; if anything Mihr _saved_ his partners, what with his healing abilities. To each his own though, because in the end Mihr couldn’t force the giant to become more comfortable with him. Though with how long the mission was taking, a god damn _month_ , Midnight ought to just give up and get used to his tinier companion. Obviously they wouldn’t be splitting up anytime soon if the target’s need to run away every time they come close says anything.

 

     With the hotel came the usual break apart, Midnight heading towards the room whilst Mihr handled everything downstairs. A quick easy turn in the keys and dig for some information here and there for opinions on the whole ‘Ghost Serial Killer’ (which was answered with, “It can’t be the same person ya know? I know them magic peoples are freaky things but really? It’s prolly a cult or somethin’ and the Magic Council is too stupid to realize.”) and information and on what all is by the mountains (“You and yer fellow heading there? Ain’t nothin’ up there but the cold. Gonna freeze to death with those skimpy clothes of ‘yers I’d reckon.”) and then some bargaining for cold food, a newspaper, and more water and beer that should last for a few days as he laughed at the inn keepers words and singing a, “Nah, I’m not heading to the mountains personally. We have a friend who wants to brave it and I just want to know if we should go haul his happy ass back before he freezes to death.”

 

     He tipped an imaginary hat at the inn keeper before belting out a, “Thanks for the heads up and have a good day sir!” and turned around just in time for Midnight to be making his way down with what remains of their belongings. Uncanny timing as always, it was like Midnight just knew when Mihr finished with whatever business he had and would show up before he actually got anything settled. Unfortunately not the first time where Mihr was left shoving food and a newspaper in his bag and juggling a few flasks of liquid as they exited and headed towards the stables. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

 

     With the stables, a good distance away from the inn and the opposite direction of where they should be heading, came the foul smell of manure and animal all mixed together. Mihr never really used horses as a way of transportation before, motorized vehicles working better and something he had a better handle of, but following someone who often went where there were no roads meant they needed a fast form of transport that can cross whatever terrain needed. Though, to be frank- Mihr hated horses.

 

     Despised them would be more accurate, they were giant creatures and Mihr- Mihr was a tiny guy. Thin, breakable- barely under five foot and just… so tiny compared to the giant creatures. It didn’t help that he never learned how to ride one before, never needed to. The first and only time he heard Midnight laugh was when he failed spectacularly on getting on a horse. He’s gotten better at it now, still an awkward affair of too much here and too little there and not enough all together. But he was better, it didn’t take him so long to try to hop on, didn’t end with him falling off the horse and face planting the dirt underneath them. 

 

     He didn’t think he’d ever not hate horses though, and with any luck after this mission he’d never have to use one again. He preferred the more stationary targets, or at least the ones who didn’t cross the country as many times as possible in a month. Given, this was the first time where Midnight said Ghost was heading towards the mountains. Not that, that was hard to believe because as the inn keeper said, there wasn’t anything in the mountains outside of cold and snow and more freezing cold and Ghost seemed to be the kind of guy who would go towards nothing just to annoy his pursuers. It’s been said only spirits could survive up there, though with the nickname the target earned, maybe he’d stand a chance. After all, ghosts were some form of spirits.

 

     Once the horses were claimed and mounted things sped up, both of the assassins enjoying not having to carry whatever supplies of theirs they had and making the horses carry it for them. Since it was night the gravel roads stayed mostly clear, a pedestrian here and there and the duo made sure to avoid the breakfast bar where the victim laid and the police that were sure to be there. A slight set back since that was on the main road out of the town but, back roads existed for a reason so it didn’t take them long to be going the right way again.

 

     There was another reason for Mihr to hate horses, bumpy rides that always moved about. Unlike Midnight who seemed to glide with the horse, as if they were one person, Mihr was left being jerked side to side and cringing every now and then if one bump was a little too hard. Unpleasant as a whole, and he never enjoyed having the wind flying in his face when the horses were brought to a gallop. The bright side of being in the town was for the most part they kept to slow movements, nothing speedy. Once they were out, then they were gone with the wind with Midnight zipping ahead of Mihr and Mihr left stumbling in his dust. Thankfully his horse was competent enough to stay close enough to not lose the tracker even with the incompetent rider. A small blessing really, one Mihr wasn’t exactly grateful for.

 

     The terrain was flat at first, like a desert with little trees and the cold winds ripping across the plains. It didn’t take long for the road to venture off into nothingness as well, leaving nothing to guide the two outside of whatever trail of magic Midnight could find. Mihr was never a fan of being led blindly, of having to trust another as completely as he was forced to trust the tracker bounding ahead of him. What was worse was that if Mihr was being completely honest with himself, if Midnight abandoned him chances were high Mihr would just be left aimlessly wondering as he tried to find civilization. Not exactly the nicest scenario to have playing in ones mind, and something he hated for even being a _possibility_.

 

     The Qleehl Mountains start at some point in the south and curve through the west and act as a wall to the north. Grand and tall with frigid tops and forever winter weather, a place where they say monsters rest. Not many ventured in their directions, let alone into them. It’s said only the truly desperate would dare to venture into their depths, which Mihr guessed their target could count as desperate. Midnight would say their target counted as the truly stupid, because who in their right mind would kill someone and then leave a fog of regret and self hatred to suffocate whoever comes to the victim’s corpse. Mihr didn’t understand what that meant, but it wasn’t his job to worry about the mental state of his target- it was his job to make the target _dead_ so one couldn’t blame him for not understanding. Or for not caring about understanding.

 

     They ride fast and hard, across the planes towards the tiny little hints of the mountains far off in the distance. For something to be so tiny in appearance but actually be so large- well they had a long ways to go until they actually hit the mountains. With any luck they never will, because really- how hard can it be to find someone in this abyss of nothing? No towns or settlements anywhere through this stretch of the winter plains, just snow and ice and more snow. Mihr was pretty sure Ghost didn’t have a horse too, so he should be walking on foot and he only had an hour or two as a head start so he _should_ be easy to find.

 

     But he wasn’t, or isn’t, or something. Because they are still there, every now and then breaking into a trot so that Midnight can check the air, then he alters their direction slightly and they start again. Every now and then, they would completely stop and Midnight would hop off the horse (but never Mihr because it took him forever to get on a horse and they weren’t even stoping for the night so he’d never-) and he’s just stand there, fingers twitching and restless and Mihr would be even more restless snapping out a, “Would you hurry up, can’t you do this on your horse?”

 

     Midnight would simply glare, continue whatever he was doing (sensing, or tasting and fuck if Mihr knew what he meant by that because Mihr wasn’t a _tracker_ and didn’t know how they worked. Didn’t know what he was missing.) Once back on the horse, they’d continue, Midnight seeming more confident but not nearly as confident as he should be. Ghost, as usual, remained out of sight. Unfortunately he stayed in mind and Mihr grew frustrated the further out into the abyss they came.

 

     It’s night by the time they find a single dead tree rising up amongst the snow. Late and dark and Midnight seems to be slowing down. A muttered, “No sense in traveling in the dark” was all Mihr got before the other dismounted, a waste of time- that’s all Mihr could see but he wasn’t the tracker and another look around the blank plains was all he needed to know that he shouldn’t wonder off alone. Even if it may hurry up the mission, getting lost was no laughing matter and when all you can see are the shadows of the mountains on one side and a foggy horizon on another getting lost would be horribly easy. All the towns and settlements stopped at edge of the frozen wasteland, and the wasteland stretched for miles before hitting the frosty slopes of the mountains. A death trap for anyone who didn’t know the land and Mihr only took the jobs that were in the cities.

 

     A fire was quick to make, Midnight ripped apart the dead tree and made sure to clear out enough snow around the gnarled roots to make a tiny little camp with high snow walls. Mihr simply watched, making sure the horses were tied up and staying near the outside. Midnight ate, bundled up and drank the beer like it was going out of style. Something Mihr always found stupid, but who was he to judge. They kept silence, an old routine they were already used to even if it had been a while since they camped outside between towns. Given, this time it was between a mountain and the town they abandoned oh so long ago. A day’s journey on horse back can get one rather far.

 

     After Midnight had his way Mihr would add a bucket of snow onto the fire, waiting for the snow to melt before resting it on the side, near the horses. An arranged deal, Midnight takes care of himself and Mihr would make sure the horses were watered or fed. Not too hard most of the time since they were in stables, but when they were outside well- Mihr never had horses before. He probably didn’t do the job well, but he did take a small amount of enjoyment out of it. Horses never talked back, and weren’t terribly dumb when it came to some things. 

 

     Just as the sun peaked it’s head up into the sky Midnight was awake and they were packing. Or- at least Midnight was packing as Mihr destroyed the evidence of their camp. Nothing could hide the obvious trampled snow, but it was enough to where it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone that wasn’t close by and really looking and that’s all that mattered. The day followed like the last, with slowing of speed and one or two complete stops and absolutely no sight of Ghost.

 

     The night also fell into a similar pattern- but this time there was no dead tree to take advantage of and instead they had to use the few supplies they did have to make a fire else Midnight may (or may not, but the tracker wasn’t so willing to test fate) freeze. This time as Midnight drank he spoke though, probably because of the lack of humans, usually they only spent one night out alone and afterwards they’d be in a town or city or come across someone but now Midnight only had Mihr and one can only be left alone in their thoughts for so long before they decide to brave talking.

 

     Naturally, war was the topic chosen, Midnight’s back was all Mihr could see, Midnight’s back and the coat and the multiple furs draped over him in an attempt to keep warm. His voice was softer than usual, still gruff but soft thanks to the beer, tongue loose and pliant and willing to share- “Have you heard of the Hybrid war or whatever their calling it?” And Mihr laughed, because who _hadn’t_ and Midnight probably gave him one of his scowls over the normal scowl but his laughter was enough of an answer because Midnight continued with a huff.

 

     “Think they might be right? Because, we are trying to kill people for just being something. They didn’t have a choice so….” His back seemed to shrink and well, isn’t that a pitiful sight? Midnight with his height and large structure and wide shoulders, curling into himself and the very image of nervous and scared.

 

     “They’re out lawed for a reason, if you haven’t forgotten who our target is- he’s a hybrid.” Silence met Mihr’s words, because there was no way Midnight would have forgotten that their target was one of those Hybrids. It’s impossible to forget with how many times they stumbled across his mix of white and black magic.

 

     “Maybe it wouldn’t end up this way if they weren’t out lawed though? Maybe we could prevent all of,” Silence and then Midnight’s hand just waves into the air, as if that is supposed to explain anything. Mihr gives another laugh because, that was just so _naive_. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that they weren’t illegal all of history right? The Hybrid King should mean something to you.”

 

     And it does, if the flinch is to say anything. The Hybrid King means everything and nothing because it was centuries old yet it still haunts everyone to this day. What blood lust does to a body, is what they say. Blood lust, and power hungry, and thirsty for revenge, for what nobody knew but everyone’s sure some of the King’s actions were the result of wanting vengeance. It was a lesson in history no one was bound to forget, not when they pound it into your skull when your little.

 

     Not when they out lawed an entire branch of magic because of it.

 

     Conversation dies from there, Midnight giving into sleep that Mihr still could never understand. He’d stand there watching and everybody always looks peaceful or terrified in sleep. Because of dreams, dreams or nightmares and he never had one of those. The few times he sleeps (and isn’t in a coma) he only has _memories_. Not dreams or nightmares because who dreams about family dinners or being in so much pain you’d rather die or being called a genius or waking up in a hospital or days of when all you want to do is run away _but you can’t even move_. Memories. And that’s not sleep, maybe day dreaming- but it isn’t sleep.

 

     That morning is stiff and awkward, at least for Midnight. Mihr carried on as usual, Midnight probably just decided that Mihr was more heartless than he thought. or was actually thinking about how stupid he was for forgetting about the _reason_ Hybrids were no longer allowed. Either way, he was more quiet and gave way to startled movements whenever Mihr came closer. By mid day it was back to normal, whatever it was Midnight decided to get over it or he just got used to it. Either way, it made no delay in the actual tracking- with that Midnight acted the same as always with dancing fingers.

 

     That day there was still no sign what so ever of their target. No sign of any living things outside of the trees in the foggy distance. The one good thing that day had brought were those trees actually- the mountains now taking over half of their view of the sky and being as large and looming as they were said. But at the base- at the base was a thick forest of pine and spruce and evergreen and whatever else was supposed to be in winter forests. And they could see it- if Mihr calculated right if they ride through out the night they’d even make it to the edge of the forest. Or be there sometime tomorrow if Midnight decided he wanted to camp.

 

     Then again, Mihr could just go ahead, because it wasn’t blank nothingness anymore, at night it would be this large black lo that was impossible to miss and he just keeps heading straight he’d- but with his luck Ghost would start heading north and go back into the abyss of the frosty plains. So he stayed, like the ever obedient follower he was. Midnight camped out another night and just as the sun was starting to fall the next day they reached the forest. Food for the horses, who were probably starving, and possible food for Midnight if he could find anything. 

 

     Night in the forest is different than a night out on the wasteland, it seems darker for one- more haunting. Their not alone anymore, you hear owls hooting and things scuttling about and it makes Mihr a tad jumpy, twisting and turning in his watch to try to see everything. Nothing was to be seen of course, outside of the glow from the fire and the dark looming around them. Like a monster, the branches acting like teeth just waiting- waiting for the slightest movement to snatch one of them away. Most likely Mihr since he was more in the dark, tucked away whilst Midnight sat basking in the fire’s light and warmth. 

 

     With night came an awkward fear, just at the edge of Mihr’s mind because everyone knows- everyone knows that there are monsters. And what happens in the woods at the base of the Qleehl Mountains, to those who enter in it. No one comes here for a reason- though apparently a reason their target missed because they were here. And they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for their target, then again Mihr wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for _Midnight_ because he’d rather just wait for the target to either die out in the mountains or return back to society. There were other things to do in the cities and towns and settlements. Other jobs to take.

 

     He fished out his phone, flipping it open and watching it illuminate the darkness. His phone was a special one- normal on the outside, actually normal on most aspects. It was one of those cheap flip phones, he didn’t need anything major. Especially with it being more on the illegal side, or at least the stuff on it was more on the illegal side. The Association didn’t know about it, nobody knew about it- or at least knew that Death was the one who had it. They didn’t know the name of the one who had it, he got called lots of names because of it. The Twig, Walking Corpse, Deadman, Hallow Man, Poison. Always something, but it wasn’t important what he was called.

 

     The phone meant jobs, only in the notes section though. The notes that got spelled when he was young where anyone who needs him and was willing to pay the price- well. It was written in. A name, a location if possible. And that was it. Side jobs, well paying side jobs because he wasn’t cheap, but side jobs. Illegal side jobs that the Association was to never know about, so the phone was hidden and this was the second time he checked on it since being partnered with the tracker. Because Midnight couldn’t know about it, he’d spill. Talk. Would probably jump for joy on ratting out Mihr and whilst Mihr wouldn’t mind killing the man, the Association would and there would be issues. And things would be a tad difficult for a while because they’d want to know why.

 

     Given he always had the option to make his death look like something else. He could make it believable too. But there’d still be suspicions because Mihr was the partner and Mihr is a healer, one of the bests. He can heal almost anything, hell- he’d healed himself. Is still healing himself, it would take something horrible horrific for the Association to believe that his partner died. He could probably resurrect someone who’d been shot in the brain or heart, maybe if it was obliterated but he wasn’t sure what exactly could obliterate it where he couldn’t even save them. Maybe someone cut in half, because blood and organs and he might be able to handle his own organs but someone elses-

 

     The  reason still stands for hiding the phone, and for it being the second time he peeked at it. The notes are much longer now than last time, scrolling on for what seems like forever. There’s even a job that’s around the area. Or, as around as it could be. In one of the settlements bordering the wasteland. Even a higher payment, probably because whoever requested it thought if they paid for the trip to and fro Mihr would be more likely to pick it. Really Mihr only stopped at it because- so close. And it’s been so long since he’s taken on a side job, or even killed someone because damn _Ghost_ is as slippery as they come and is no where to be found.

 

     He flips the phone shut, putting the decision off for tomorrow- or this morning since the moon was falling and it was probably past midnight now. Not that there was much a decision to make because he was going to take the job. He might say he’s deciding but he already knows in his bones, something to escape and be free. Midnight’s a tracker so the direction side should be good, a simple spell pulling him to the closest town and a spell tying them together and Mihr’s good. Maybe he’d get a tad lost but it would be enough where he wouldn’t be abandoned because he’d have sense of where to go. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to do that with a tracker, given he only did it the one time.

 

     With morning they are moving again, slower than before what with the branches. Mihr is less jumpy, glad to be able to see again and not stuck watching a dying fire and a sleeping man. More like envying a sleeping man because he could feel his mind wondering more and more. It’s been a while after all- a month or so of being wide awake and unable to stop. It does things to the body. Not the longest he’s gone without but long enough where the effects are starting to catch up to him and he starts _envying_ those who can just…. shut down.

 

     Without a worry. He always has a worry. He can’t even do that and he _envies_.

 

     They pull deeper into the forest and then start heading north, or what Mihr assumes to be north, no longer heading towards the mountains- or what little of the mountains they can see. It’s quieter during the day outside of the horses breaking whatever frozen twigs or leaves or whatever on the ground. But there’s no animals noises, no birds, no anything. Eerie and quiet but yet better than the dark because at least now Mihr can _see._ And if you can see something, you can defend against it so seeing is needed and wanted and _needed_.

 

     It’s mid-day when Midnight dismounts, fingers already in the air and Mihr takes this chance to speak, to mention- “I’m running low on supplies.” Midnight’s always grouchiest when he’s _tasting_ , he says it requires concentration to actually focus and pull and Mihr guesses it’s like healing. Because he needs to focus then too, if it’s something new. Needs to focus and picture everything mending and pulling together and everything being perfect and natural. 

 

     Mihr’s expecting to get snapped at and he isn’t disappointed, the hands shoot down and go back to the coat (hiding, always hiding. Sometimes Mihr wonders why the tracker has such an odd habit, such an odd _need_ ) and a glare pointed in Mihr’s direction, a gruff ringing out, “Well you should have gotten more supplies when we were in the town.” And that’d be true, if Mihr wasn’t so finicky about his _supplies_ because he has a safe house. Somewhere, somewhere safe that no one was allowed to go with walls and newspapers and-

 

     Yeah. He had a safe house that had everything so really, why buy supplies when he’s been housing them and taking care of them and caring for them (never mind that he’s rarely there. He has everything cared for already. Has since he was little and found that abandoned little house on the hill top far away from society.) Midnight knows this of course, it’s been mentioned once before when the journey started. Midnight was sent to the next city over, meet up place arranged even if the target decides to ditch and run again, and Mihr went to his safe house. And did that one job on the side that paid well enough for him to splurge. Midnight didn’t know about the job though, and he didn’t really know about the safe house because Mihr kept to vagueness whenever he mentioned it.

 

     “You know I have a shop. It should be close by too, or at least close enough for me to get it before Ghost moves on.” If he moves on, is unsaid but Mihr is pretty sure it’s written all over his face. Midnight shrugs, and then his hands are back in the air and the conversation is over until next time. They start moving more to the east, where the mountains aren’t even in Mihr’s peripheral vision and he figures it’s Midnight’s way of saying, You’re free to go, here’s the outside. Here’s the wastelands.

 

     Night falls and their right on the edge of the endless plains of snow and ice and cold. Mihr can see it, if he squints hard enough, right through the trees. Flat nothingness, that goes on for miles and miles and miles. He’s sure this is out of the way, but does it really matter? Mihr’s the killer after all, and he’s going to be away so even if Midnight finds the target he wouldn’t be able to do anything. They set up camp as usual, once Midnight has the fire blazing he motions towards Mihr- not even touching the little food he had left or the water (No more beer though, that’s long gone. Mihr only got enough for a couple nights of drinking and it’s been well over a couple nights.)

 

     Tracking magic feels weird, when it’s placed on ones flesh. Midnight never touches, just hovers over the flesh with his eyes closed and hand wide open. Probably a few centimeters away from flesh but he makes sure that he never touches, if Mihr fidgets Midnight jerks his hand away and they try again. It’s a tickling feel, that gradually builds to something tugging and it makes Mihr want to rub his hand and get away from the feeling. But it’s their for a reason, it’s probably what Midnight calls _sensing_. A relentless pull that’s just there underneath his skin, one pull that seems to just want to peel his skin up, and an even tinier pull that makes his skin want to heard out into the wastelands.

 

     After the magic, the awkward pulling that still is insistent but Mihr is determined to ignore it for the most part. At least for now, when it’s not needed because he’s to be standing watch again before abandoning his partner to the forest. But after the magic- Midnight heads back to the fire, grabs the coat and furs and wraps himself like a burrito with only one beady purple eye gleaming out that eventually shuts. Sleep seems to overcome the tracker quickly and Mihr kept himself occupied for the first few hours (or at least, what seemed to be hours) by differentiating the tugs, it would do him no good if he couldn’t tell which tug was for what. Though by the time he reaches the town or settlement or whatever Midnight tied him to, there should only be one tug to worry about and that one tug should be enough for him to locate Midnight again.

 

     Afterwards, discovering one tug was fiercer and more skin ripping whilst the other was more of a tingle (something he was worried would change depending on proximity but so far the only thing he had) he fished out his phone. Checked the notes, find the job. He could reply but the magic didn’t work that way, a one way system and if he chose the job he’d have to find the employer the hard way. Magic never helped much with that part but there was usually something that would make him be able to tell them apart. Not that the employer knew that, but the magic _did_ brand them.

 

     Reading, over and over before flickering up to see the sky, new moon and all. Blackness in blackness with more blackness and hooting and- back to the small glowing phone. And then a yawn, not his first in this venture but becoming more frequent and he can’t help his thought of-

 

_When this job is finished I’m going into a coma for a year._


	3. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bein lazy, I'll add the indent later

Relief, that’s the words that explained everything about this moment. Just, this crashing sense of _relief_ as the other man left, as his back grew smaller and smaller on the too big horse. As he vanished off into nothingness even if Midnight knew it wasn’t really nothingness. He could still _sense_ the man, but only this vague ‘hey he’s over there’ kind of sense. 

 

The second time that the two have separated, the reason the same as it was last time. Supplies running low, not enough of this poison, not enough of this herb, oh look _this_ is going bad. Death was inexplicably picky about his supplies, refusing to get new ones from whatever shop was around them. He’d only get the supplies from his _own_ shop. Or whatever it was, Midnight never saw it and Death kept vague in mentioning. Just said it had the best ingredients/supplies the world could ever ask for and he only would go there if he deemed them close enough for the separation. A four day journey at most, the assassin had said as he stumbled up onto the horse that was too big for his tiny stature.

 

Just four days. Those words were ringing in Midnight’s ears as the man vanished into the horizon. The first time Midnight was insulted that Death thought Midnight wouldn’t have found the target before Death returned, but after a month. Well…. Midnight had to admit defeat. Somehow Ghost would evade them. Maybe they’d catch sight of the target, once or twice actually interact before he’d vanish. The nickname given to the target was very fitting in that sense, he was pretty much a ghost. Often Midnight felt like he was hunting fairy tale creatures thanks to the man. 

 

For the other assassin, Death was a fitting name. He tasted like death, like rot. His magic corrupt and consuming in a way Ghost’s wasn’t. Death was this dark cloud, an always erupting volcano that gave so much yet told little. Really, relief was the only word Midnight could think of when thinking of not having to be around the other assassin. The taste was enough to make him go mad, always there- bubbling out of the man at a consistent rate. He had a hunch on why the man was always oozing out his magic like it was going out of style, what with the too thin frame and insomnia and the refusal to eat or drink anything. Magic propelled flesh, that’s what Death was. Like a machine. It was discomforting to be around all the time, so. Relief.

 

Eventually relief made way for the sense that Midnight needed to get moving. Ghost was probably already moving, he always seemed to be moving. If there was one thing Midnight was thankful of when it came to the long hunt for the target, it was that the longer it took the more sloppy Ghost seemed to be with his magic. With fingers dancing in the air he could already get a better grasp of the trail than he could the other days and an easier trail meant that he was that much closer to finding the target. Until the target found another victim and all his magic seems to vanish into nothingness as what seemed to be the pattern.

 

As soon as he found the trail he gave a tug, small and senseless and a taste would explode, slightly more minty than before yet still holding that awkward sour tang as before. Not as over powering, and more mellow than ever. Quiet, like Ghost’s thoughts were quiet for once. A new thing for sure, the target’s thoughts and emotions always seemed to explode from him, but this time they were barely there. The taste was enough though, not as useful as usual (no panic, no thoughts of ‘mountains’ and ‘safety’ and ‘help’ and ‘why’ circling around and around in the taste. Nothing that made him want to puke.) but enough where he could follow the vague trail Ghost left behind him.

 

Packing was quick, most things already bundled up and strapped to his horse and he made sure to hide the remains of last nights fire with snow. Most of the valuables were kept with him, Death simply taking a bag of his belongings and the many newspapers he picked up at whatever inn they stayed at for a night. He left all the food and all the water to Midnight, awkward and confusing at first until he’d think back to all the times that Death didn’t eat. Or when he hand’t drank anything in over three days. Unnatural but, something that probably came in hand when it came to survival even if Midnight didn’t know _how_.

 

The one bad thing that came to horseback was not being able to really track magic unless walking at a slow trot, but even then some would escape. Tracking needed stillness, stillness horseback did not provide no matter how much Midnight wished it did. So often he’d head just that much in the wrong direction, still close enough where it’s correct and he can still taste a bit of the magic as he rips by but wrong enough where he doesn’t end up where the target was. 

 

Movement was faster though, since Death’s presence wasn’t suffocating him anymore. Wasn’t always there to get captured when he tried to find the target. That, that was a relief as well. No longer tasting rot every time he needed to confirm the trail. Ghost’s magic tastes sweeter too, when there isn't rot right on the edge. Still sour and minty but also slightly sweet. Though that may just be because Midnight’s gotten used to tasting rot all the time for the last month. 

 

Night falls and Midnight is further in the forest than before, probably close to the start of the steep slopes even though he can’t exactly tell with the thick forest surrounding him. He’s closer to Ghost as well, the magic is stronger, fresher. Stands out more and it seems to dance among the trees. Sometimes Midnight wonders if the target has more than the ability to shape shift into humans. Animals maybe, it would explain why he could vanish so quickly so frequently, to be able to hide away for so long. There’s no point in wondering though, wouldn’t change anything.

 

It’s the first night where Midnight didn’t sleep, sometimes dozing off by the fire before remembering he’s alone. There’s no one to watch for him anymore, and a small part of him misses the rot because Death never slept. He didn’t know if the man was simply unable to sleep or didn’t want to or- something. But he never slept, stayed awake and looked the same in the morning as he did the night before. Once Midnight saw bags under the man’s eyes (he remembered telling the other that “You look like you just got ran over.” and the other had laughed and said, “I’m an old and crippled man. Give me some slack will you.” He didn’t look or act like an old, crippled man though, but Midnight kept silent. It wasn’t his business.)

 

The forest is haunting at night, louder, more alive. And he remembers tales that he never bothered to think of before. Well, that was a lie. The second he entered the forest he thought of them, but never worried. He had a walking, talking machine next to him, that was scarier than any myth about the forest or what lurks in the forest. Now he was alone though, now there was nobody else watching out and the fire was dying slowly in front of him and his mind wondered further than it ever did before, because now he was alone and didn’t fear to think.

 

So he kept moving, water for the horse (Mihr left the bucket and Midnight had a flash of worry for his horse, and then he thought back to the four days. It took three days to cross the wastelands and Mihr said he’d be back in four days. Midnight wasn’t sure if the horse would still be alive because whilst he had no doubt that _Mihr_ could do it, the horse was a completely different matter.), then finding twigs to feed the fire, then possible food. Star watching if he ever caught sight of the sky. Just- 

 

Always moving, doing something. Staying awake and hating being alone because whilst he’s done it before, it’s been so long. He hasn’t needed to worry before, because there’s no reason for both him and Mihr to stay up when Mihr wasn’t planning on sleeping anyways. Midnight will be the first to admit, he’s been spoiled the last month, even if the reason for being spoiled was because of the rotting man that was always with him.

 

Morning came with a sour disposition and bleary eyes. Not that it mattered much, as long as he was functioning enough to track the target he was good, and it would take more than one night of no sleep for that to happen. He thinks that if he doesn’t sleep this night as well he’ll just continue with the tracking. No point in pausing for something that doesn’t help him much after all. This night he’d probably get some shut eye though, probably. He has the entire day to plan for it, and maybe he’d move slower this time around so he has time to set up a camp and trick wires and whatever other warnings signals he needs.

 

On second thought, the forest is thick with the target’s magic. Thick and close and surrounding and maybe Midnight wouldn’t even have to worry about setting up camp _now_ when Ghost was clearly close by. Figures with the luck he has, the second Death leaves is when Ghost decides to actually show up. Midnight pauses by the horse, hands bracing against the creatures back and eyes flickering around because the magic was just so _suffocating_. He could taste it without even trying, more minty than anything- still a lingering sour taste at the back of his tongue but nothing like it used to be. But the mint, it was foul and wretched. Too much of what is usually a pleasant taste and he’d rather have that sour taste back. That was better, it didn’t make him want to puke.

 

In the corner of his eye he caught sight of a figure lurking by one of the iced over trees. Blood is the first thing he thinks when he tilts his head more in that direction. Blood and death and oh god- it’s a _child_. Tiny and lanky, she couldn’t be over 12 years old with clothes too big for her and if the taste of the mint made him want to puke that- _that_ made him puke. Made his stomach contents erupt into his throat because all he can think is-

Ghost takes on the appearance of those he kills.

 

All he can think was that this _child_ was _murdered_ at some point of time. That the person he was tracking down would be heartless enough to kill someone who never really got the chance to even _live_. That, that was probably worse than Death, was probably worse than anything Death ever did because at least his walking corpse of a partner didn’t murder _children_. 

 

She’s got these light colored eyes and a light complexion, too far away for Midnight to tell if she had freckles but what he could tell from any kind of distance was her hair. Thick and curly and crimson (part of him wonders if it was naturally crimson or if it was just dyed with her blood and Ghost didn’t care to change it). A thin hand cupped some necklace dangling around her neck, her head cocked just so and then, “Where’s the other?” The voice is soft and lilting, child like in so many ways and Midnight just can’t breathe because this- _this_ was a _dead person_. Someone taken away, someone too young to even know what _death_ was. And they were _dead._

 

“The dead one, with the awkward gait. He’s usually around, keeping watch or checking that phone of his.” She moves forward, tiny and frail looking even if she was so long looking. Midnight clenched his teeth, not saying a word (but Death was never obvious, not in the fact that he wasn’t _natural_ \- not to outsiders. Not to _targets_ and Midnight can barely think with those words.) He reaches down, slow as can be not to be noticed. The metal under his coat is cold, icy metal and if he wrapped his hand around it it’d be familiar. Death might have said he was only there for tracking but Midnight was an assassin. He knew what the job entailed, and he was capable of it even if he wasn’t quite as heartless as the walking, talking machine.

 

She’s closer and closer, her eyes are this murky green and her face is round with a little button nose and just so- so- _child-like_ and he still feels the vomit rising because how could someone even- “I wouldn’t if I were you, I don’t think you can kill me when I look like this. And I’m really good at reading people so I doubt I’m wrong.” There’s a smirk on her face, one that a child should never wear and that’s what makes him act because a child would never give such a god awful smirk and this _is a killer_. The gun flashes in the air and just as the gun made an appearance everything turned sour.

 

The child changes in an instant, growing taller and fuller and manlier and the hair turning straight and brown with cold eyes and (Midnight knows that face because they were the last ones and they died and-). She, or he as the target was now, moved faster- clothes still baggy but not as baggy and a gold necklace dangling in the air as he darted away with a laugh and a- “You actually dared to do that huh? Maybe-“ A change and then the air is more minty than before and then another change and then-

 

Midnight can’t breathe, gagging on everything and there’s always been a reason on why trackers aren’t the best assassins. Midnight hates the reason, but there’s no denying the fact that he’s _suffocating_ on all the magic. Magic everywhere, every kind of magic with every kind of mixture and the targets face and body structure keeps changing as they move about and Midnight just blindly aims and shoots as Ghost dances around with laughter pulling ever so closely before-

 

An elbow lodges it’s way into Midnight’s stomach, not that he can notice much outside of a slight pressure because _he still can’t breathe and why won’t everything stop and why can’t it just be gone and why-why-why-why-_ A sharp pain is what thrusts him out of his panic, heart thudding and he’s bleeding (somewhere, somewhere, he doesn’t know where and there’s just so much magic and he can still taste it and oh my god why won’t it stop and go away and-)

 

Ghost dances away, looking back just in time to see Midnight fall over and spill the contents of his stomach, magic still hanging in the air and the sour mint mixture still sitting heavy on Midnight’s tongue. “Sorry about this.” The words ring into Midnight’s air and all he can think is, _I’m a failure, I can’t breathe and I can’t do anything, and this is why Death was the assassin. This is why I’m the tracker and_ ** _I can’t breathe_**. The words don’t register until later, when Midnight stumbled away, as far away as he could from the heavy essence and he’s dry heaving into the snow and he can’t believe-

 

He’s a tracker, he knows that trackers are the easiest to overwhelm. They are sensitive to everything magic, it’s how they touch and feel things, they can read emotions and thoughts (and it suffocates because if he looks back he feels terror and horror and just wanting to puke because _how could he do what he’s about to do_ and just. Guilt. Regret. And that’s not his, those aren’t his and all he can think of is of the little girl that stood by the tree asking about the dead man.)  They can taste it. Magic is an entire world for them, and too much magic over whelms and suffocates. Trackers don’t go to war because of this. They are the behind the scenes people, they don’t risk being in the middle of a magic battle.

 

But one person shouldn’t be able to overwhelm a tracker. Shouldn’t be able to overwhelm _Midnight_. He’s never had to face a hybrid before though and all he can think of is Death’s words of, “They’re out lawed for a reason.” because they’re- Because they’re dangerous, more dangerous than anything because they have both white and black magic and thinking about it- _of course_ Midnight would get overwhelmed. Hybrids are the definition of too much magic in too little space, they are known for the mass amounts of magic they expel. Hybrids are literal bombs of magic just waiting to explode, and well. Midnight guessed he just experienced one exploding if the overwhelming taste of  sour mint and the presence of so much magic slamming into him and just the- unable to breathe. The panic that wasn’t really panic expect it was because _he couldn’t fucking breathe_.

 

He can breathe now though, and he doesn’t know exactly how far away he went away from his horse. His horse that has his food and supplies and other coats and a swear escapes him because he needs that horse. On one side, the horse shouldn’t be hard to find- it’s where all that _magic_ is; he doesn’t want to go anywhere near that. He feels goosebumps just thinking of nearing the mass amount of magic that tastes of sour mint and so much whiplash and so many thoughts and-

 

But he needs the horse, and if he waits too long the horse might start to wonder off, or freeze, or something. _Something_ will happen if he doesn’t find the horse, whether to him or to the horse just- something was going to happen. Still, he can’t force himself to raise his hand, to purposefully draw the flavors in when it still sits so heavy on his tongue. When he still feels the urge to vomit every time he so much as thinks of going back. He needs to though, because whilst he could track the horse, it would end up with him focusing more on the horse than on the actual target.

 

Ghost was close by though, given the target probably moved further away by now, but he was close. Would it really matter if Midnight went a tad off track for a horse when he can’t even confront the target because he’s a bloody _hybrid_? This was what Death was for, and they both knew it even if Midnight didn’t completely realize it until _there was so much magic and it was suffocating and he couldn’t breathe and-_ It didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter, not the suffocation, no the horse, not Ghost. Not right now, not until the person that can deal with the hybrid was here. All that mattered was sticking close enough and staying alive.

 

Though, a small part of him wondered if _Death_ would stay alive, because it’s just him and a horse and the vague sense of some direction. No food, no water (the horse is going to die, he just knows it. Death just doesn’t think about other things like that, doesn’t realize that most things aren’t like him-), nothing but his thin little leather outfit and his horse. For four days, and sure he never seems to sleep or eat or drink anyways but- He can’t be _that_ unnatural right? Then again, everyone called him a machine so- Maybe. He’d find out in three days, or more. There was no way the other man could make it back in four days, not in any sane way anyways. Not in anyway Midnight can think of because Midnight just connected Death to the town they left, and Death never mentioned being close by whatever shop it was he dubbed as his in that town.

 

He drags himself up, pushing away from the frozen tree he was leaning against and stumbling. The taste was still strong, the vomit taste underlying the sour mint and if he closed his eyes he could smell the magic too. A rare occurrence for Midnight, he was more of a taste and feel tracker, smell, seeing, or hearing magic was either impossible or a rare occurrence for him. Fingers slowly move up, to drag out the magic, get to be trackable and, vomit rises and he swallows and-

 

Magic found and located and he drops it as quick as he got it, swallow some more because of the dread pooling at his stomach. He should wait longer, it’d be better and smarter and- the magic might start to disperse and vanish and not try to swallow him whole. So it’d be better, really. But he couldn’t just stand still and wait, no matter how much he wanted to. 

 

The walk is slow, dragged out and long and- wow. Midnight had bolted further than he thought he did. The horse is gone, the magic still lurks but not over powering enough for him to puke (still there, his stomach turns at the taste that he just wants to go away) and for a second he dreads having to track the horse down before he actually looks and-

 

Snow is rather useful, not so useful for tracking Ghost who seems to never touch the snow because there’s no footprints outside of his own in the area. But for the horse- there’s a trail. Easy to find, clear and simple and, Midnight raised fingers in the air grasping at the magic trail, the complete opposite direction from where Ghost went. A sigh escaped him, his breath this frozen fog in the clear air in front of him, and he followed the trail. He could track Ghost later, not like he can do anything an he still has three days, _at least_ 3 days, until Death comes. Until then, there’s no point in getting close to Ghost when Midnight still feels the urge of gagging when even thinking of the target’s magic.

 

Finding the horse was easy, even if it was a slow process since after the first couple hours the wind carried snow over the trail so it was a tad harder. But still easy, easier than tracking Ghost. Easier than dealing with a rotting taste that’s always there. Just- easier. After the horse was found he turned around and went back to where he encountered the target. Time to start tracking all over again, catching up the time that’s been lost.

 

It’s when the sun was falling that it happened. An unnatural warmth bubbling up under his skin, something that he at first thought was imaginary. Until he started to feel like he was boiling alive, something at odds to previously freezing and his teeth chattering and honestly- he was a tad worried. People don’t suddenly become hot in weather that’s below zero. Not unless they are sick or dying, maybe hypothermia?

 

At first, he stays bundled up because this was just _insane_. People don’t suddenly become _warm_ when it is _freezing_ outside unless something was wrong. Something clearly was wrong, but that doesn’t last because when you are boiling in so many layers it starts to get hard to breathe. You start suffocating in a way similar to how he was suffocating earlier with the target. For a moment when he remembers the target he remembers that sharp pain (his arm, his arm- he never checked it) and he wonders if maybe Ghost has more abilities than just shapeshifting. He is a hybrid after all, hybrids are unnatural and are capable of more things than anyone else.

 

He doesn’t know how long it is, but when he can actually focus on something other than his skin burning he’s practically naked, laying in the snow with his horse staring down at him. Still warm, unnaturally warm for someone surrounded by snow- and when he lifts his hand he can see his fingertips blacking and-

 

It changes just like that with shivers wracking through his body and he’s left hurrying for his clothes because it’s suddenly burning in a whole different way and he can’t feel his hands and toes and- he freezes just as he wraps a coat around himself, purple eyes (eye, the other is covered and blind and useless and ugly and-) staring into the trees. Staring at a shadowed figure, tall and lanky and  he knows that face. It’s a victim from a few weeks ago and he remembers Death saying that Ghost has an odd attraction towards killing prostitutes (male or female, this one being male). Ghost just watches him, standing in the snow and watching with this odd grin.

 

There’s no overpowering magic this time, no minty flavor. Just this soft sour, back to what it was like when Midnight was tracking him across the plains. The man was still wearing this skimpy little outfit, still with that gold skull hanging around his neck. It’s distracting- that necklace, almost hypnotizing as it hangs atop of a blank tank top that was nearly falling off the man’s shoulders. Midnight forgets the name of the victim, it wasn’t something he ever bothered to learn. Just the face, the name was useless after the first few days. 

 

He blinks, frozen and unbelieving and when he opens his eyes the man still lurks there, with the same grin and then, “She said people who are affected by it act weirdly depending on distance. Apparently blood bonds are supposed to be done with both close together. Makes sense really. She says it’s different for each pair.” The words are sung out, but the voice is broken. Hoarse and older than it should be, not matching the face at all. Midnight squeezes his eyes shut because, why would the target even say that. That made no sense. None.

 

He knew what blood bonds were of course, a rare occurrence that only the power houses of the leeches can do. Something lovers do when they can’t live without the other. Suffer the same pain, suffer the same wounds, suffer the same death. Romantic to some, stupidity to most and- Why on earth would Ghost elude that he and _Midnight_ were _bonded_. Midnight definitely did not _bond_ with the target and last he knew you needed two people to make a bond. Needed a leech too, and he didn’t know of any leeches that were out this far. Leeches prefer the city, more meals around there with the higher chance of magic corrupting others blood. Middle of no where would equal no meals, no meals equaled a very useless leech so-

 

Ghost had moved closer, standing a few feet away and still grinning as wide as can be. The image changed, instead of the auburn messy hair and dark eyes and thin lanky frame, it’s a shorter frame, thinner with a baby face and oh- he remembered seeing this one for a split second too. White curly hair, red eyes. Same grin and the clothes seem to fit better too. Probably the clothes the victim wore before Ghost killed the man. He doesn’t remember seeing this face, but they miss faces sometimes. It’s not always such an obvious kill and there are always the kills before they were even getting marked as ‘Ghost’s’. 

 

“The dead man- uhhh,” He clicked his tongue before brightening up, “Death right? Death is gone, correct? I saw him heading away and doesn’t he normally do solo missions anyways? I was surprised to see him with you. He seemed like the single mission type of guy whenever I- uh not I, but Jayden, you’d know him as Desolate, which was always a stupid name by the way.  I always thought I’d get a better name than that so that was just a big disappointment and- sorry sorry. But Death is gone? Because if he isn’t we might have some issues because whilst I was planning to do this anyways,”

 

Midnight had one wish, and one wish only at that second, and that was for the target to just…. _shut up_. To never speak again, what with his rambling and his hands flailing in the air but his red eyes keeping a careful watch on Midnight all the same and Midnight swore on the inside when he went to reach by his side because of-fucking-course he took off his guns when he took everything else off. A quick glance to the side confirmed that they were not in arms reach, next to his thickest coat and his gloves and-

 

“if he’s gone that makes everything so much easier. I told you I was a good read of character right? Well, I kind of have to be what with everyone in my head, like Harold- nicest woman you’d ever meet. She hated her name too, people are so finicky with names. I think they should just be happy with what they have you know? Enjoy their life whilst they have it. Lots of things to enjoy. I mean, not that I get to enjoy them personally. Well, in a way I did but at the same time I don’t and, I’m off topic. Sorry about that, I get easily distracted. But as I was saying, Death seems like the kind of guy who just doesn’t care about anyone. I was worried if he was still around he’d just kill you and be done with it. Wasn’t sure how to counter it, definitely did not want to be partnered with him though because I think he might be suicidal enough to kill me ‘ya know? Just gives those feels and what-“

 

Midnight jumped for the guns just as Ghost gave out a startled yell, darting forward to try to drag Midnight back to where he was previously sitting. The sour taste becoming slightly sharper and all Midnight can think are a few swears as a cold hand wraps around his knee just as his finger touches the smooth metal of his gun. “What are you doing!?!? Do you want to die? You aren’t supposed to do this!” 

 

Midnight doesn’t even want to know what _that’s_ supposed to mean. Maybe he’s been following an idiot all this time, there’s really no other explanation. Though it makes him sad to think an idiot took this long to find and, his finger curl against the gun and quickly swings it around to be pointing to the man whose holding his leg. Though it was no longer a man, big green eyes stared up with him with the bloody hair and, yes she did in fact have freckles. Just, splotched across the tiny little button nose and her mouth is twisted up just so and-

 

It’s a child, that child. The one before, but no grin on her face. Just wide eyes and frightened and so, so innocent looking. “You can’t kill me, I didn’t go through all this just so you’d kill me. You’d kill yourself too. Blood bonds aren’t a one way street, if one dies we both die.” The voice is so, innocent sounding. Child like, precious. Something to embrace, even if the words themselves make vomit rise in his throat that has nothing to do with the sour taste that is so close, and so powerful that it just chocked him. 

 

Midnight was frozen, unable to breathe, unable to pull the trigger and just staring at the little girl who clutched at his leg. After a few moments she pulled away, tiny fingers leaving the fabric of his pants and she just stood there in from of him, green eyes wary but no longer as wide as before. “You’re really weak to children you know. Children can be just as deadly as an adult, if not more so. Like snakes, snakes are deadlier when they are younger since they have no real control over their venom. Children are like that, they are still learning so- really you can do terrible things when ones little. Lack of control. Lack of knowledge. But this works too, here lemme-“ she fidgets, turning to the side as dug around her belts before pulling out a small dagger that was too big for the tiny hands.

 

“This is why you can’t kill me, not because of this but because of,” a small cut across her arm and Midnight chokes at seeing a _child_ (Not a child, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. A killer in sheep clothing) cut themselves and then he felt it. A slight twinge, a jolt of pain and when he slowly pulls his sleeve up he sees a similar cut across his own arm. The child smiles, “this. If you kill me, you’ll die to! So you might want to rethink on shooting your gun at me. Even if it doesn’t kill me, we’ll both be in serious pain.” Another shift, more sour but not that it changes anything because suddenly everything is gone and it wouldn’t matter if Midnight could move before because all he can think or see or feel is-

 

Blood bond. Blood bond. _I am blood bonded to my_ ** _target_**.

 

A whole different relief enters him when he thinks that Death isn’t here. That Death is far away, going to some stupid town and when he reaches out he can feel that pull in Death’s direction. Because if Death was here, as the target said before. He’d be dead. As the target said before, ‘because if he isn’t we might have some issues’ and Midnight leans over to the side and empties an already empty stomach. More dry heaving than vomiting but he can taste the acid with the sour and-

 

Oh god, oh god, oh god he _could die_. He was fucking tied to the _target_. That he was supposed to _kill_. And he can’t breathe, hasn’t been able to breathe, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to breathe because how- how- how does one breathe after finding out that they’ll be dead. That they are a walking talking corpse, or would be a corpse. Not yet a corpse but going to be a corpse because he’s tied to someone who is wanted. Dead. They want the bastard dead. Midnight was going to _die_.

 

He couldn’t die though, he said he wouldn’t. He was supposed to live, a happy life, natural. Sure maybe a tad risky since he’s tracking criminals but it’s safe for the most part. Never alone, always with someone. Now he’s alone, was alone. Is alone- is stuck with a criminal that he was tied to. He didn’t know how, how could someone even- maybe this all was a prank maybe maybe maybe maybe.

 

A hand touches him, soft and gentle. Not so tiny any more (black hair, gentle and female with blue eyes and she’s tiny too. Adult though, he remembers her too- one of the older victims) and a startled breathe escapes him and when his eye darts to the side he can see her mouth moving, moving moving but he can’t hear. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, in his brains. All he can hear are the futile hopes that this is all fake because this couldn’t be real.

 

Blood bonds need two people, so it was impossible. Blood bonds need a leech too, a powerful leech and there couldn’t be one way out here, it was impossible. Impossible. But he was bleeding and could feel pain but but but-

 

It could be something else. Had to be something else. Maybe it was a different wound that he only just noticed now. That he only just realized now, the thought of blood bond was planted into his head so he made that conclusion. That- that would make sense. Perfect sense, illogical sense but sense. Enough sense for him to grab at it and pull because that’s all he had to go on for the time. 

 

A bang sounds and Midnight snaps out of, everything. Breathing, thinking, standing still. Heart moving faster than ever and his finger convulses against the trigger, tugs at it but- but- nothing is there and when hazy eyes blink and actually look. She still has black hair, graying in some parts, and blue eyes and she’s holding a gun (his gun- his gun, when did the target get his gun), pointing it to the side and staring with narrowed eyes. “Are you done? Freaking out isn’t going to benefit either of us. It feels like you are about to have a heart attack really, and I didn’t do this bond so that _you’d_ kill us with a fucking heart attack.” The voice is snappy, not matching that smile she wore though her eyebrows were furrowed and blue eyes an icy glare.

 

No words can escape him, nothing even processes because none of this makes sense, not really. All of this had to be fictional, a dream. A something. It had to be. The face morphs, back into that white haired boy and red eyes and the baby face. “So, Death is gone right? Is he coming back? I think he’s a he, I mean, I’ve heard he might be a girl since he’s not exactly masculine and he’s so tiny but- a girl can’t be that heartless right? I don’t think a girl could become a zombie or machine or whatever he is. There are so many rumors about him you know? So, he’s gone? I mean, either way we are going to have to get a move on, you have frost bite right?” The man, boy, something- Midnight wasn’t sure on what this one was. Never saw this face before either, like the red haired girl- he reached down with a hand, red eyes wide and a smile on his face that quickly morphed into something else entirely as-

 

Because this all had to be fake, some kind of ruse. Maybe mind control, he’s a hybrid after all. One never knows what they can do. (They’ve been out lawed for a reason rings in Midnight’s ears over and over again)  but he’s not completely confident. Not sure because maybe- maybe the impossible happened. Maybe it’s something else, but something that tied them like a blood bond would anyways. There’s no leeches by the Qleehl Mountains, so a blood bond had to be impossible. His hand is close to one of his guns, a tiny one that’s used for incapacitation and really can’t do much damage. Maybe break skin but nothing bad and he’s not willing to get one of the deadlier ones because that scratch mark still hurts but-

 

The expression morphs as a sound rings out, not exactly a bang and Ghost crumbles to the ground with a yelp. A yelp that was followed by a groan and Midnight curling up because, that hurt. That hurt a lot and he can feel the bruise on his thigh and warm liquid freezing to his skin because it’s still cold and-

 

He didn’t shoot himself, but he might as well have with the bruise and the break in skin on his thigh. Ghost goes down swearing, calling him all kinds of names before spitting out, “What, did you not believe me? Think I just cut myself for _fun_? Fuck, I should have gone after Death instead no matter what I think of the bastard. Shit you are so fucking stupid!” His whole image is morphing, swapping between an older lady to Jayden to a teenager to something else. All flickering to fast for Midnight to see and the magic surrounding them seems to explode and Midnight thought he couldn’t breathe before but now- now he couldn’t even fathom the thought of breathing with the sour taste so heavy on his tongue. 

 

Really, Ghost was over reacting. Whilst it hurt, it hurt a lot and there was going to be a huge bruise and it might take a while for the broken skin to heal, but it didn’t hurt that much to cause that kind of reaction. Not like it was a fatal wound or anything. It was just one that hurt a whole lot and made Midnight cringe when he’d actually have to put his weight on that leg and use the muscles. So, over reacting. That’s what Ghost was doing, and Midnight couldn’t help but wish that if he did get tied to one of his goddamn targets that it was at least one that wasn’t so _annoying_. And volatile. And magically inclined. The one hybrid he ever gets the ‘pleasure’ to meet he ends up being tied to thanks to a supposed blood bond.

 

That didn’t matter though, none of this would matter really if Midnight couldn’t even choke down air. No air is a quick way to death and Ghost seemed to scramble up to thump Midnight on the back, the harsh way he was speaking earlier turning into grumbles of, “God, just breathe. Don’t fucking die. Are you a spazz or something? Aren’t you supposed to be one of the Association’s Assassins? You shouldn’t be this pathetic, really. This is depressing.” Midnight can’t stop the urge of flinging an arm into the mans face, he doesn’t regret it even  when he feels the pain and his nose starts to bleed as well. He can breathe now though, high and wheezy and barely there. But enough air to live and think a bit more than, _why is this happening to me?_

 

Ghost is swearing again, his mouth never seems to stop. Incessant chatter escaping at every possible moment and it hurts Midnight’s ears after a month of strained silence. “I regret so many of my choices, Death probably would be so much nicer and smarter as long as he didn’t actually try to commit suicide on me. Is it your plan to just beat yourself up or something? Because that’s all you’re achieving. And we really need to work on that frost bite of yours because I don’t feel like losing fingers because of some idiot that actually thought it’d be a good idea to strip in the middle of winter.” Midnight can’t help but think that he wasn’t the only ‘idiot’ since the one speaking was wearing a tank top. At least Midnight had fur coats and plenty of layers to keep warm.

 

The sour taste is still there, more leveled out though (if he actually focuses all he thinks of are swears and focus focus focus and little children laughing). It spreads out at a steady pace, no longer suffocating him where he sat but expanding. Breathing becomes easier as it disperses, he takes in a large lungful of air once he can manage something outside of desperate wheezing. The first words out of his mouth seems to put Ghost to a stuttering stop in his track.

 

“Oh my god, will you just shut. Up.”

 

Red eyes blink at him, mouth opening and closing before ending on a small pout and then the smiles back a few moments later with, “Oh you can talk! And here I was wondering if I was stuck with a mute. I mean, I’m sure I’ve heard you talk to Death a few times- you two are rather quiet aren’t you? And I know I’ve heard you’re a nice guy. Family guy too- rumors say you have a pretty wife~ Dangerous work for a family man don’t you think? And-“ Midnight’s falling forward, snarl on his lips and hands (blackening fingers, frost bite) reaching out to that thin little throat and he honestly doesn’t care if choking the man in front of him would result with him choking as well because-

 

Well, suicide is sounding more and more appealing the more the target talks and he doesn’t think anyone would actually blame him either. He wonders if his body would ever be found, this far to the west. Maybe he’s just be deemed MIA, or someone who ran away. Maybe a legend that supposedly crossed the mountain when in all reality he just choked himself because he was stuck to a never ending stream of noise that didn’t know the meaning of silence. It probably hadn’t even been ten minutes too, a new record low.

 

Ghost fumbles back, a scowl taking over the previous smile and his eyes glaring at Midnight. “Fine, be that way. Just put your fucking gloves on would you? I don’t want to lose a finger or more because of you. I’ll get a fire started too, warmth or whatever. Tomorrow we’re going to go to Ivory so she can spell you.” And just like that, he turns around, tossing the gun he was previously holding behind him and just trots on into the forest again. Without a care in the world, a slight limp but he seemed to have decided to get over that and-

 

Midnight grumbles under his breathe, following the instructions anyways with stuffing his frozen hands into gloves before rubbing them in hopes of warming up. When Ghost returned, with a several twigs piled up in his arms, Midnight was still crouching in the snow, hands useless rubbing against each other and mind refusing to think. The target cleared some snow, set the fire, started it, waited ever so patiently before snapping, “Are you just going to sit there like a lump on a log?  I know you’re more useful than this. What, are you traumatized or something? If you are, you’re in the wrong career field. Really.”

 

Midnight just sent the other a glare, hands still rubbing uselessly and his brain still refusing to work because- how could it. None of this should have happened, should have been able to happen. There are no leeches in the Qleehl mountains, none that are documented and everybody is documented. Undocumented magics are killed so- only hybrids are undocumented and they are destined to die no matter. And he’s tied to one. He’s tied to a hybrid (and they’re out lawed for a reason, maybe this is the reason? Making the impossible possible.) Ghost frowns at him, then changes and he’s a teenager. A boy with a mohawk and so skinny but taller than he was before (the tank top shows off his stomach) and he gives a grin.

 

“Acting tough doesn’t get you anywhere you know. Silence is not the answer. I should know, I was always silent and had bruises. Everyone thought I was a delinquent or something. I wanted to be a doctor you know? And-“

 

“Shut up.” Midnight snarls, because those aren’t Ghost’s words, Ghost is a hybrid and hybrids are hidden most of their lives. No school, no life outside, no nothing. That’s something everybody knows so those words aren’t his. Probably fake and lies and guilt tripping and whatever else. A game, maybe this was all a game to the hybrid with that grin and the crinkled eyes. Even with the snarled words Ghost keeps smiling, eyes closed and grin wide. “Do you have any questions? We’ll be stuck together for a long, long time you know. Blood bonds are for life. Ivory said it was stupid of me to do this you know, but Ivory thinks everything I do is stupid so-“ he shrugs, and then he’s back to that white haired kid again, older probably but a baby face all the same.

 

“Why.” It’s not so much a question, a croak and really, Midnight doesn’t want to know. Midnight wants this all to be a bad dream because this couldn’t be real. “Why what? Why you? That’s a popular thought you know. Whenever something bad happens I always think, ‘Why me? Why did this happen to me? What did I do? Not feed the pet? Be late a few times at work?” He changes again, an old man, grey with a beard and a tad on the chunky side, “Was it because I had anger issues? Took it out on my wife? Why me?’ People are so silly. Or is your question about the blood bond? Why what? So many why’s could be asked how am I supposed to know what why you are asking.”

 

Silence was all that followed that little speech, the old man looked over at him with these grey eyes and Midnight remembers that face too. The words matched the face, the last ones. Alcoholic, one of the kills Death said was accidental. Midnight could see it too, that was a messy scene, the wife was a witness but she was in shock at the time it happened, said it happened too quickly but she was happy. Ghost looks back at the tiny fire he was working on growing, “It doesn’t matter anyways. You were chosen because you were the best out of two. Or, I thought you were the best out of two. You’re no one special. Victim of war you could say. My war versus the Association since they are hell bent on killing me. Can’t blame them though, I mean. At first I could but now I can’t.” Another change, back to Desolate’s face (Jayden’s face).

 

“Or are you asking why the faces? Because that’s easy enough. You’re a tracker. Faces are magic. Boom, magic for the tracker. I’ve worked with them before, don’t they like magic? I’ve been told they feel empty when there is nothing around them, nothing to feel or hear or see or taste or whatever. So, it should be comfortable for you right? And no harm for me, it helps a little too I guess. I think. I dunno.” A shrug and then he look back over at Midnight, “So why the, Why? Did I answer it or….?”

 

Silence and Midnight looked away, refused to acknowledge the other because- nothing made sense. It made sense but it didn’t and he still- it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered and he should just, accept. Or something. Accept that he’s tied to a hybrid. A serial killer, the person he was supposed to kill. Just- how. How was he supposed to even. It hasn’t been that long, it’s been a day. Two days without Death, a day where he’s actually found Ghost and he’s lost. Like a child. 

 

He reaches out to tug that pull, the presence of Death wondering away, somewhere away to some shop for poisons. Because Death was more familiar, was normally there (has been there, a month. Not his longest but not his shortest and definitely Death’s longest time with a partner) and now he was far away and he was tied to the target and- Part of him wonders if none of this would have happened if Death just stayed put. He remembers the bloody hair and the girl who asked where the dead man was. He remembered Ghost, it was hard to forget something that happened just a few hours ago so-

 

If the dead man was here, then maybe no blood bonding would have happened. Because Death means, well. Death. A fitting name not just because of the rot flavor his magic carries really. He toys with the pull, never making so ti effects Death, but just- plays with it. Because it’s like the blood bond, or whatever it was that tied him and Ghost. It tied him and Death, though if one dies the other wouldn’t die so it’s not exactly the same kind of link. 

 

“Are you just going to keep staring? Are you really that traumatized over this? Shouldn’t you just be able to, I dunno- roll with it? Take it as it is, give up? Accept the fate that has been handed to you? Stop, just stop staring.” The voice breaks him out, it’s the boy with the baby face again with his eye brows furrowed and smile strained and then he added, “It’s creepy.” You’re creepy, is what he’s tempted to say. A childish remark but at the tip of his tongue anyways. He refuses to humor the other though (his finger twitches, because he’d rather shoot the man and be done with it but he can’t die because he promised-)

 

“Fine, don’t talk. It’s going to be a long partnership if you refuse to be companionable you know. I could swear you were the nice one, maybe they got it wrong. Does the Association give the same name to more than one person? Maybe there’s another Midnight and that’s the nice family guy because you seem like one of those people who can’t play well with others.” Midnight grits his teeth, closes his eyes. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Pretend, pretend, pretend. (Hybrids are out lawed for a reason rings in his head again, and he’s tired of Death’s voice in his head saying the same thing over and over again because he gets it already. Maybe this was revenge for thinking of taking pity on them.)

 

The night follows, Midnight barely sleeps and Ghost snores. The target snores yet seems to be awake whenever Midnight opens his eyes. The fire keeps going all night long and Midnight wonders if maybe Ghost is more monstrous than Death was because at least for Death, he knew the man never slept. But Ghost seemed to sleep. Like him, sleep but yet always awake. Sometimes Ghost starts talking, soft mumbles for the most part, usually holding that gold necklace up close to his face and staring at it. 

 

Morning and Ghost refuses to have anything to do with the horse. “There’s a reason you never found me you know. Just, leave the horse. There are other ways, faster ways through the forest. Also, carry only what you need. Most of the shit you two brought is completely useless. Have you never been near the Qleehl before? So stupid, it’s a wonder you haven’t died yet.” And Midnight thinks it’s a wonder _Ghost_ hasn’t died yet as he abandons nearly everything but the weapons. No food, no water, no horse, no anything outside of the clothes Midnight’s back. It’s like traveling with Death, but worse. Maybe those with a lot of magic are always like this, maybe Death isn’t some machine but just some power house maybe-

 

Midnight takes his bag anyways, even with Ghost crinkling his nose at the bag. Food and a few casks of water and some coats and blankets and a few other things to help with living. He’s not like the abominations he seems to keep finding himself stuck with. He has needs, he’s human and easy to break and tear apart and has needs. Ghost is a woman again, a different one with orange hair that long and straight. The tank top is too small, chest too large and pants seem glued onto the hips. It’s weird, so many forms and the clothes seem to stay the same yet stretch t accommodate the bigger forms and hang on to the tinier forms. The gold necklace still dangles innocently around her neck. It’s weird how the tiny flash of gold metal seems to keep Midnight’s attention all the time. He wonders if it’s been spelled to do that.

 

Ghost calls him an idiot again, for good measure or what Midnight doesn’t know. Past that they fall into a silence, similar to the silences Death and Midnight had, but it made Midnight feel more like there was a knife dangling over his head. Silence seemed more at odds with Ghost than noise, what with his previous incessant chatter and now just dead silence. Just the the crunching of snow and ice (and Midnight misses the horse because his feet are so much colder now that they are actually walking in the snow- now that snow keeps creeping into his book) and breathing. Probably Midnight’s breathing because half the time, if it weren’t for the ever constant sour taste in his mouth (slowly turning minty, slowly) Midnight wouldn’t even realize the other was there. And then everything breaks, the knife falls with-

 

“I bet you’re wondering how you never found me right? Heard any of the stories of the forests? I’m sure you have, the monsters are legendary~” She swings around on her foot, facing Midnight and walking backwards. “They are fake of course, no monsters here. Not to say the Qleehl don’t have some kind of mystique presence anyways. Because they do, they do! Mother dearest says the heroes flower came from here. I don’t know why it’s called a flower- you know of the story right? Of the Hero and the King and the prophecy?  My mothers favorite bed time story~” She gives a hum, head cocked to the side then swings around to face forward again, without a care in the world. 

 

It doesn’t matter if Midnight answers because she continue after the slight pause. Not enough time to answer, just enough time to process though. Calculated silence, he’d say but Midnight’s not sure if she’s the kind to do that. More of a coincidental silence. He’s assuming she’s talking about the Hybrid King and the Hero. That’s the only story that mentions a flower anyways, that has both a King and a Hero and he could see the mother of a hybrid telling that story. Part of him briefly wonders if her parents are hybrids, but that would be impossible. Only a black and white magic can have hybrid children. Then again- there aren’t enough hybrids to be able to know if two hybrids could have hybrid children.

 

“It’s not even a flower that gave him the power, sure there was a flower. Mother says it’s one of those icy flowers, down by the frozen lake. She was there at that time you know, leeches live forever. Or at least, she says she was there, always has and the story never changed much. Maybe different names but same story so, you know. I’m assuming she’s not lying but! She has always said it wasn’t the flower that gave the power, that the flower was just a mere instrument. It was the spirits of the Qleehl that gave the power. They are all over the mountain range and the forest, maybe even in the wasteland. If you have their blessing they’ll help you with whatever you want~” She gives a laugh, turn around again, just this quick turn as if to make sure Midnight was there. He was, of course. Where else was he going to go, Ghost was who he was supposed to be tracking (and now he was bonded to the bastard so-) and he’s out in the middle of no where. By the mountains. That no one went to. So really, where else would he go.

 

“I do. Have their blessing that is. That’s why you never found me, because the Qleehl spirits take care of their charges. Not that they have many in the first place. Too many people scared of some monsters that don’t even exist. I’m not even sure how those legends sprouted, did a bunny’s shadow just look monstrous or something? There aren’t even any wolves out here. No wolves, no bears, there are some elk. But most of this place is barren so where would they get the idea of _monsters_. I did research into that once too, you know. Like, a school project thing. Well, not I personally but I as in Amy. Little research nerd that one, I wanted to know everything. Magic too, White with a… light? I think it was light, it was such a funky name really I never understood it. I refused the type name actually, I called it Learning but everyone gave me weird looks when I went ‘Type Learning’. Makes more sense in my opinion instead of ‘Type Light’. Makes me think of a sun.”

 

She babbles and babbles, hands flying in the air every now and then but staying with her orange hair and yellow eyes. Midnight stays silent, he doesn’t really get why she’s babbling. Why she’s sharing so much (even though it all is confusing because she keeps saying I- I this, I that but it doesn’t seem like she’s talking about herself at the same time. Not when what he knows of hybrids doesn’t match up because hybrids don’t go to school, don’t go anywhere. They stay holed up, hidden away from the world.) He lets her babble though, turning into unimportant chatter about why Learning was a better name than Light and how it worked and how she loved being able to touch a book and just know and he doesn’t understand how- But Ghost is a hybrid so maybe she can do everything and it wouldn’t matter anyways because she’s a hybrid and hybrids are illegal.

 

They move around faster than he and Death ever did. Ghost seems to know where everything is, which way is the easier path. Nothing snags them and it seems like they are on this tiny, perfect little trail. The snow is still horrid though, still falling inside Midnight’s boots and his feet still press into the tiny icicles that creep down all the way into the bottom. Past that, it’s actually better. Better than traveling with Death even if there’s always this voice ringing about (he doesn’t pay much attention but when he listens back in she’s moved on to talking about the Qleehl mountains as if they are people which makes no sense and Midnight is quick to ignore her again because she is obviously crazy.). The sour taste is faint again, not as strong as it was when she was changing semi frequently and there’s a creeping mint taste that grows stronger as the day goes by, though to be honest Midnight would take those flavors over the rot of Death any day. 

 

The sun is falling when she finally stops, swings around and her arms are outstretched and a wide grin on her face as she sings, “And we are here!” Midnight stops and this, this is when he classifies her as completely insane. They’re surrounded by frozen trees and bushes and whatever else. Surrounded by the same stuff they were surrounded by in the morning. Nothing changed, just them being deeper in the forest (and if Midnight looks behind himself he sees their tracks are non existent and nothing looks clear and he wonders if the Qleehl mountains really gave the hybrid their blessing or whatever.) “Where is here.” His voice is cold and blunt and Ghost gives a gasp, hands reaching to cradle her face before whispering out, “It speaks.”

 

The image is quickly ruined when she turns around with a laugh, “And here I thought you were broken. We are here, at the great estate of yours truly. Well, not mine. Someone else. I was raised here though so close enough. What’s hers is mine and what’s mine is hers.” She gives a hum, image changing back to the white haired boy with the red eyes and he raises his hand to knock and-

 

Everything seems to shatter. The ground beneath them seems to fall into some abyss that ends at a snowy clearing and the trees fall over and- it’s like watching a mirror shatter on the ground truly. Bits and pieces falling onto each other and in the end the back is revealed. Though, for this what was revealed was a clearing and a house. A tiny house, log cabin with snow encircling it and it was just, so tiny. And weird, weird to have been all the way out here. Not something for one of the towns or cities but something you’d see in one of the tiny settlements. It even had a little chimney with smoke coming out of it (Midnight can’t help but wonder how it was hidden, who had that kind of illusion power this far out in the west?)

 

“I know it’s tiny, don’t tell her that though. This is her prize possession, I don’t know why. You’d think for being a leech she’d have something better to offer but nooo, Ivory just has this shabby little thing. It’s warm though, I mean not that I was cold to begin with but you should be happy. Animals don’t like the magic which is why we had to ditch your horse, it’ll probably stay alive though unless it freezes so we can look for it after we are done here.”

 

Midnight reaches a hand out, trying to taste the illusion magic that was there (probably still is there) but he catches nothing. It’s as if it was never there really, something that he didn’t even notice from the start and now that he knows of it’s existence it’s gone. “It’s vanilla. You’re one of the ones that taste right? She says her magic is vanilla flavor. Plain and boring and utterly unfitting of her. She always whines. Don’t let her know you can taste magic or she’ll never leave you alone.” Midnight jumps and looks up to see those red eyes watching, twinkling in amusement and the grin wide and Midnight’s more lost than ever. More lost than he was in the morning, in the night before (still can’t grasp _blood bond_ to his _target._ )

 

Ghost doesn’t give Midnight much time outside of his small attempt at pulling and tugging magic towards him. The white haired boy with the baby face is bounding towards the small cabin in seconds after snapping Midnight out of his attempt. Midnight’s slower, slower but still following though he keeps his fingers out. Keeps his magic up and playing and drawing and all he can find is the sour mint flavor that is Ghost. No vanilla, no other magic and he wonders if there’s anyone in the Qleehl mountains (but there’s an active illusion magic so there has to be-)

 

The house is warm. And tiny, pathetically tiny but really warm and Midnight finds himself wanting to shed his coats and gloves because he’s _burning_. Ghost charges right through, vanishing in one of the rooms connecting to the (tiny) living room. There’s a fire, small but alive and there’s even a couch and a small little kitchenette and it’s so… cozy. A nice, cozy little cabin in the middle of no where. Something he had hoped to have one day. 

 

“So this is your new toy. I was wondering.” The voice snaps Midnight out of his thoughts and when he looked over to where it came from there was a small girl leaning against the door frame. White curly hair and red eyes, matching Ghost who appeared shortly after wards. For a second he wonders if they were related, if Ghost killed her older brother and she didn’t even know about it. “Ivory, this is… uh,” Ghost gestures weakly, eyebrows furrowing and giving an awkward hum before, “I don’t think I ever caught your name, I mean I know who you are. Obviously. But I don’t think I ever got your name, or it doesn’t stick so uhm, what is it?”

 

The first thought in Midnight’s mind is, you got a blood bond with me _and you don’t even know my name_. Well, it was to be expected that Ghost didn’t know his _name_ but at the very least he should know the name the Association called him by. He knew Death’s name (but everyone knew Death, Death was number one, was the best) and he knew that Midnight was a tracker but apparently he didn’t even know that he was called Midnight. The girl, Ivory (he remembers the name Ivory being mentioned- blood bond and Ivory and _stupid_ and that just makes Ivory the leech. Ivory is the one who apparently tied him to his god damn _target_.) rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her lips. As if this was to expected, as if she just knew that her brother or whatever Ghost (or whoever Ghost looked like) was would do this. Would do a blood bond to a man whose _name they didn’t even know_. For a second Midnight wonders if they are actually related, if maybe Ivory is the target’s sister (if the target is that white haired boy withe baby face and the tiny upturned nose and wide red eyes) or- thinking back to other things Ghost blabbered about- _mother_.

 

He refuses to see the mother in Ivory. Ivory looked all of 12, like the little girl with the bloody hair and green eyes and freckles. But Ivory was a leech, was supposedly a leech and powerful leeches could change their appearance like shape shifters could. Though why a powerful leech would want to look like a little girl was beyond him, why a powerful leech would even work with a _hybrid_ was beyond him. “Midnight.” The words are just thrown out, cold and frigid and half of Midnight wanted to take them back when Ghost snapped his thin little fingers and continued on, “Midnight! So Ivory, Midnight. Midnight, this is Ivory. And we’ll be staying here for a few days, since things are going so well. Honestly I thought it would take longer to get this whole thing started you know? So the fact that everyone is cooperating and I’m not dead is a grand start!”

 

Ivory snorts, “I was pretty sure I was never going to see you again to be honest. What kind of retard decides to attach their life to the one whose been hired to kill them.” A small part of Midnight wants to mention that technically, he’s just the tracker. Death was the one supposed to do the killing, though earlier Midnight sure as hell wished he killed the target. Would have made everything easier, given he’s not entirely sure if that would end up in his own death. “I didn’t bond to the killer! Just the tracker, trackers are so much easier to deal with. You know they get overwhelmed. Plus I am good at reading people, I knew he wasn’t going to kill me. Wasn’t so sure about the dead man though. Death probably would have killed me even if it killed himself too. He seems like the guy.”  Ghost sings, quickly walking past Ivory and moving onto the kitchen.

 

“Mhmm. And you two only have two days before you have to get going. I’m needed else where. Council summons and all that.” Ivory says, inspecting her nails as if something interesting was there just as Ghost swirls around, a gasp sounding and eyes brows high, “What do you mean two days?! You said a week! You promised me a week! How am I supposed to get everything done in _two days_.”

 

‘Technically one day if you don’t count today.” Her voice is monotone, not a care in the world with red eyes lidded and this- this Midnight doesn’t believe comes from a twelve year old. He can’t imagine a twelve year old with this kind of careless talking. “Do I at least get to stay the night tomorrow?” There is an indisputable whine in Ghost’s voice, drawing out the words and curling them around. It makes Midnight think of a little kid begging for scraps, with big eyes and a pitiful smile.

 

“Nope. What do you take me for, an innkeeper?” Ivory finally looks up giving this smirk before adding on, “I have things to do. Don’t worry kid, I’ll take care of you before I leave so you’ll be good.” Red eyes slide over to Midnight (whose burning up still, yet everything seems to freeze when those eyes stare at him) “I would say you can handle it yourself but you were an idiot and decided to strap your life with his so….” She gives a shrug before turning around with a wave of her hand, “Later boys.”

 

And she’s gone. Just like that, the door closing with a soft thumb and Ghost seems to melt into the floor with this high pitched whine falling out of his throat. He sounds like a deflating helium balloon to be honest and Midnight has to remind himself, this is a serial killer. A hybrid that’s ruined thousands of lives. Even if he does look like a little kid that just got told no. He changes then, just as suddenly. No longer white haired- just as curly though. Black locks and dark skin and green eyes instead of red (and he’s thinking of that little girl again with the bloody hair asking about the dead man and-)

 

“Okay! No time to dilly dally then!” He claps his hands, grin wide on his face. Wide and so obviously fake and Midnight can see part of it crumbling at the corners when Ghost gives him this weird look before he adds a, “You can undress you know. Well- uh not go naked, not that kind of undress but ya know- not wear as much? Does that make sense? Uhhhhh, take off your coats. Be less dressed. Isn’t it hot in here? Oh! I forgot to get you spelled. We can work on that tomorrow when Ivory isn’t being such an ass. Is that okay with you? Of course you are just going to stare at me aren’t you. Why don’t you ever talk? Are you still upset? Did I really traumatize you because if I did I’m sorry and I really didn’t mean to and-“

 

“Is it impossible for you to just shut up?” Though Midnight was tempted to just stay silent and keep on staring, he couldn’t help the words snapping out of his mouth. Laughter was the only answer Midnight got, laughter and then a singing of, “So you still aren’t broken! Hurray, I’d be worried if you didn’t say anything you know. Anyways, so yeah. Feel free to strip. Well, not completely strip, but mostly strip. Or, take things off. Or whatever. Don’t boil yourself alive, and I am going to go find food because I am starving since I spent all day stuck looking for you yesterday. Well, looking for you and getting Ivory to do the blood bond, which takes a lot of magic you know? She didn’t do it here, obviously.” And the now black haired boy turned around and went back to digging around the kitchenette leaving Midnight to stand in the cozy little living room.

 

He stays standing there, frozen in place and left watching the fire flicker in the fireplace. It is warm, uncomfortably warm- _burning_ warm but he can’t bring himself to shed his clothing. His finger twitches with the thought but then he feels a different kind of burning, the bite of the cold nibbling at fingers and toes going numb and- he can’t. He just can’t do it. But he can’t move either, frozen stiff in place and staring out as Ghost shuffled about on his side. He kept trying to put a finger on the new face the target wore, it was familiar but he couldn’t figure out where. Obviously, he was a victim but he didn’t know when or where and, well it was probably older than a month. Midnight wasn’t the one who memorized every single face (he memorized most though, most), Death did though. He remembered in the first week seeing Death hunch over scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. Relentlessly reading when Midnight was supposed to be sleeping. The first sign of a never ending machine that ran on rotting magic.

 

Thinking of the awful flavor snapped him out of his reverie, remembering Ghost’s words about the Ivory having a vanilla flavor and he can’t help the curiosity bubbling up at the thought. He’d never met a vanilla flavored magic before, those are said to be sparse and old. Plain because of age, and only those that were true experts in the tracking field could find what their flavor originally was. Everyone read about them in school, tracker or non-tracker, the vanilla- the _whites_ , were legends. The ancient survivors from the war of the Hybrid King, those that the hero touched before he vanished. A dying flavor, or at least dying now until someone found a way to make more. Midnight wasn’t sure if it would even be possible to make more, the hero seemed to be a one time only kind of deal. A unique savior that would never show up again.

 

Midnight’s fingers reach up, up and out and trying to pull everything in the air towards him (sour, sour, sour, mint, sour, sour, mint, sour, sour-). It’s nothing but Ghost, Ghost, and Ghost and part of him wonders if it was all just a lie. Maybe Ivory wasn’t the owner or it was just some hoax and-

 

Vanilla.

 

It’s there. Just this small hint but he found it. Faint, mellow and easy to miss but there. Something he’d imagine ghosts to taste like, it lurked in the shadows. It seemed to hang just on the corners of the house, something kept away and dusty and unused. He tried to tug more in (ignore the sour mint, ignore ignore ignore), the taste addicting and strange and nothing like he ever tasted before and- “Here, eat. You’re hungry too right? It’s been just as long, if not longer, since you ate so it’d figure that you are hungry. And since we only have a day it’s best to eat up now. There won’t be much food on the journey, we’re gonna be going north. Follow the mountains you know? And we’ll branch off after a while, where the wastelands are thinnest and there is this huge city right on the outskirts. Should take a week at most and we won’t be carrying much, it’ll just delay us.” Bread is shoved into Midnight’s face and purple eyes blink at the curly, black haired man.

 

Midnight reluctantly takes the bread from the man’s thin hands. He gave it a wary glance, debating but- Ghost wouldn’t poison him would he? After all, if Midnight dies, theoretically Ghost would die as well so it’d make no sense for the target to do that. Ghost doesn’t take any notice of his misgivings, going towards the fire to feed it another log whilst saying, “You’re still dressed. Don’t you think it’s hot or can you just not feel hot? Because if you can’t you should have gotten the daed man to check out your nerves. He’s a healer right? Or… wait did you get distracted by Ivory? Because she’s a vanilla flavor or whatever? I hear their supposedly rare or something. I don’t know. How does that even work? Tasting magic sounds so weird. Is it only when people are using magic or is it like this constant stream? Because if it’s a constant stream that has got to suck in big cities since there are so many magic people. Sensory overload or something? Are you a country boy?” 

 

The babble is seamless, not a single breathe seeming to be taken between sentences and Ghost doesn’t even bother to look over at the other man. Just assuming that Midnight was listening, or did he even care if Midnight was listening? Maybe the target was the kind of person who enjoyed to hear themselves talk, Midnight could see it too- what with how frequently the other man talked. 

 

He doesn’t bother to answer, instead deeming the bread worthy of eating and slowly munching away. Softer and warmer than the bread Death bought at the inn. Better tasting too. Makes him miss home cooked meals that are hot and fresh. Dinners where there’s no rush to chowing down or where he isn’t being stared down by someone who doesn’t have any food in front of them. Homesick, he partially blames Death for it though because he usually doesn’t get homesick- he’s left home for longer times before after all. For years even. 

 

“Fine, don’t answer. Not like I was talking to you anyways. Was Death chattier than you because I’m pretty sure I made the wrong choice out of you two. Maybe you are broken, only able to say so many words per sentences per hour or something. It’d fit. Fuck, this is just going to suck. And here I thought I might have more company than me, myself and I. Well, technically I do but I’m not sure _you_ , mister sociable, count as company when you barely say more than four or five words at me. Would it kill you to at least try talking a bit more?” Green eyes look at him beseechingly, a pout forming on lips that technically aren’t even his and Midnight turns away refusing to look at the target. “Be that way. See if I care.” Ghost grumbles, sounding more like a child than he ever did. (More than a child then that bloody haired girl with the freckles and the green eyes and asking about the dead man-)

 

The silence is thick, thick and suffocating and Midnight keeps thinking of a sour mint flavor chocking him and his heart beating too quickly to be natural and his lungs shrinking because he _can’t breathe and_ \- “Why are you going north through the Qleehl Mountains.” It’s not really a question, it’s snapped and slightly breathless because he refuses to start thinking now that it’s actually quiet. Now that Ghost’s incessant chatter isn’t chasing away all of his thoughts.

 

“Oh, now you’re talking. I don’t know if I should answer you when you are the one that’s not cooperating at all.” Still child like, still pouting. Midnight can’t help but wonder how young Ghost actually is, is he even past his teens? He’s a hybrid and hybrids are known for going off the deep end at young ages. Too much power for tiny bodies or something. He wasn’t exactly sure, half the time he avoided hybrid talks. He still can’t help but wonder if hunting them down is the right thing to do, wouldn’t things be better if they taught them how to control their powers? (They’re out lawed for a reason, rings in his head yet again. Midnight wishes Death never uttered those words.)

 

“I can always refuse to leave.”

 

“You do that and you die.”  It’s spat back without a second thought, Midnight wonders if he was actually looking at the target if he’d see green (or red, or blue, or-) eyes glaring at him. 

 

“Then you die too and it’s my job to kill you anyways so…” And Ghost actually chokes when those words leave Midnight’s mouth. He splutters for a few moments, noises leaving his throat that can’t really be considered as words before settling on, “You’re a family man aren’t you? Are you really going to give that up just to kill me?”

 

“Blood bounds are forever so I think I already have.” The words leave Midnight’s mouth without a thought and then he freezes as it hits him because-

 

Blood bounds are eternal, forever, a no backing out kind of thing. If he is really tied to the target then it really is the end because you can’t have a _family_ when tied to a _wanted serial killer_. Anything he wanted really, is just- over. There is no start to something when he’s going to be on the run for his entire life. Even if he separates from Ghost, if (when, not if, when because he’s wanted by the government. He has people like _Death_ trying to kill him) Ghost dies, Midnight dies. If the Association ever learned about the blood bond they wouldn’t even bat an eye before ordering Midnight’s _death_. He’s a dead man walking. Ghost successfully ruined his life in just a few hours. Ghost successfully ruined _everything_ with one stupid little blood bond.

 

All he can hope for is that this is a hoax. A lie. It’s unbelievable enough, impossible enough that it might be true but there’s this pile of dread pooling into his stomach that tells him that this is _not_ a lie. He can hope, but he thinks hoping isn’t going to get him anywhere, isn’t going to change anything.

 

The silence that follows his words is crushing and Midnight doesn’t know whether or not he appreciates it over Ghost’s rambling. Not after his epiphany- and is it really an epiphany? He had to have known from the start, had to have realized from the beginning what a blood bond would mean for him. He’s not stupid after all, anyone with a brain would realize that being tied to a serial killer was the beginning to the end. 

 

Something he can think of on the side though- he’s not hot anymore. He’s frozen, frozen solid and too cold for the too warm house. Unnatural but he thinks anyone would feel like this. Like they just had a bucket of ice water dumped over them at realizing, at finally connecting the dots- that there is nothing after this anymore. Nothing. Blood bonds can’t be broken so if it really, truly is one- he’s screwed.

 

There’s no way out of it outside of death. And he’s not sure which would be better out of the two.

 

“I’m sorry…” The words are weak, pathetic- barely there. A whisper that gets lost in the air between the two and Midnight’s not even sure if he heard properly. Something that thaws him enough to turn around and stare at the target. Ghost isn’t looking at him again, staring at the fire as if it held all the answers, crouched over with black curly hair and a tiny little frame. No words escape Midnight’s throat to answer, every thought dying before it ever breaches his mouth and it tastes sour (more sour than Ghost, a bitter sour) and Ghost didn’t offer anything else.

 

Midnight moved, finally discarding his many (too many) layers of coats and gloves and socks, folding them semi-neatly in jagged movements. His brain lags, unthinkingly (refusing to think, because thinking is bad, bad, bad. Like the blood bond. Like everything that’s happened recently) but he can’t help but compare himself to Death. Wondering if this was how the other was like all the time, a machine with no thoughts and just a goal. His goal, horrifyingly simple as it was, was to deposit the (somewhat, not really- it’s messy. She’d complain about it) neatly folded clothes on the back of the tiny little couch perched right in front of the blazing fire (and the crouched Ghost who still stares into it and doesn't say a word.)

 

Silence still haunt everything, still makes the things lurking in the back of his brain (unable to _breathe_ ) come to the front but he can’t even _think_. He’s not allowed to, he refuses to (because it’s bad, and leads to thinking how everything is over and done and that he broke his promise-) but he can’t break the silence because noise seems like it’d be worse. Ghost must hold some kind of similar thought process because he isn’t saying anything either, just staring, staring, staring. Like the fire holds everything. Like the tiny crinkles and pops are everything there is to know. 

 

It’s a different kind of awkward than it was with Death. A more dangerous one, something that’s hanging over a cliff and someone’s going to have to do that first jump. Nobody wants to, Midnight hangs behind the couch, twitching and purple eye roaming the surroundings (such a cozy little home) and Ghost staring, like a doll. A broken doll with black curly hair and-

 

He bolts, standing up in a matter of seconds, a huge grin on his face before he tips an imaginary hat and then he shatters the silence with, “Well, we only have a day so I need to get ready.” And he’s gone. Like he was never there in the first place and the only thing that confirmed his previous presence was the shutting of some door and Midnight just stands there watching the fire and the spot Ghost was previously inhabiting. 

 

The couch, Midnight discovers, wasn’t cute cute and tiny. It was rather comfortable, his body melting into it the second he sat in it. Time passed, just like that- with Midnight staring at a fire and refusing to think and-

 

There’s this tug. Familiar but unfamiliar and unnatural and suddenly thinking is important because he knows what that tug means. It means Death was looking for him, trying to find him and heading and suddenly, breathing becomes a tad more difficult because _if Ghost dies, he dies_. And Death was going to kill Ghost. And Midnight would lead the way to Ghost so he was really a dead man walking. 

 

It only takes a second of thought before he reaches out to that tug-

 

And breaks it, lets it shatter and all he can think is, well. He hopes Death was close enough to civilization for it not to matter too much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
